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AFTER-DINNER  AND  OTHER 
SPEECHES 


BY 


JOHN   D.  LONG 


BOSTON    AND    NEW    YORK 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND   COMPANY 

1897 


Copyright,  1895, 
By  JOHN  D.  LONG. 

All  rights  reserved. 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge,  Mass.,  U.  8.  A. 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  H.  O.  Houghton  &  Co, 


These  speeches,  made  when  I  was  in  public  life, 
may  have  some  value  as  a  partial  reflection  of 
the  public  sentiment,  and  of  the  topics  and  occa- 
sions,  of  a  generation  in  Massachusetts,  which 
is  now  more  past  than  present,  and  to  which, 
m^indful  of  the  kindnesses  and  opportunities  it 
gave  me,  I  gratefully  inscribe  them, 

Hingham,  February  22, 1895. 


M123738 


CONTENTS. 


PAOK 

^  Daniel  Webster 1 

'^  Wendell  Phillips 6 

Nomination  of  George  F.  Edmunds  to  the  Pbesidenct  .        .12 

Forefathers'  Day  in  New  York 17 

Senator  Pike 27 

Unitarian  Missionary  Work 31 

The  Ancient  and  Honorable  Artillery 35 

Welcome  to  the  American  Association  for  the  Advancement 

of  Science 39 

Laying  of  the  Corner-Stone  of  the  Massachusetts  Chari- 
table Mechanics'  Building 42 

Opening  of  the  New  England  Manufacturbbs'  and  Mechanics' 

Institute  Fair 46 

Welcome  to  the  National  Conference  of  Charities      .        .  50 

Centennial  Dinner  of  the  Massachusetts  Medical  Society  54 
Two  Hundred  and  Fiftieth  Anniversary  of  the  Settlement 

of  Cambridge,  Mass 58 

^Oxford  County,  Maine 64 

Memorial  Day 72 

The  Disaster  at  Johnstown,  Pa 86 

The  Universalists 89 

The  Colored  Veterans 94 

Commencement  Dinner  at  Harvard  College     ....  97 
Opening  of  the  Fair  of  the  Society  for  the  Prevention  of 

Cruelty  to  Children 101 

,  General  Grant 104 

^  General  Sherman 107 

y   General  Logan 110 

The  National  Druggists'  Association 113 

Webster  Centennial  at  Mabshfield,  Mass 117 

Mayor  Prince 121 

Forefathers'  Day  at  Plymouth,  Mass 124 

The  Old  Sixth 127 


VI  CONTENTS. 

Dedication  of  the  Oakes  Ames  Memobial  Building        .        .  131 

Longfellow 134 

The  Old  Meeting-House  at  Hingham,  Mass 137 

Dedication  of  the  Town  Hall,  Hopedale,  Mass.  .        .  143 

President  Garfield 152 

Two  Hundred  and  Fiftieth  Anniversary  of  the  Incorpora- 
tion OF  Sandwich,  Mass 156 

The  Spirit  of  1775 161 

Dedication  of  the  Wallace  and  Converse  Library  Buildings  179 

^.--OovERNOR  Andrew 190 

Fourth  of  July  Oration,  Boston,  1882 196 


DANIEL  WEBSTER. 

The  Hundredth  Anniversary  of  his  Birth,  Marshfield  Club, 
Parker  House,  Boston,  January  18,  1882. 

It  is  but  a  poor  tribute  that  even  the  most  eloquent 
voice,  least  of  all  mine,  can  pay  for  Massachusetts  to  the 
memory  of  her  mightiest  man  of  state  and  her  greatest 
orator.  Among  her  sons  he  towers  like  the  massive  shaft 
on  Bunker  Hill,  upon  the  base  and  crest  of  which  his  name 
is  emblazoned  clearer  than  if  chiseled  deep  in  its  granite 
cubes.  For  years  he  was  her  synonym.  Among  the 
states  he  sustained  her  at  that  proud  height  which  Win- 
throp  and  Sam  Adams  gave  her  in  the  colonial  and  pro- 
vincial days.  With  what  matchless  grandeur  he  defended 
her !  With  what  overwhelming  power  he  impressed  her 
convictions  upon  the  national  life !  God  seems  to  appoint 
men  to  special  work ;  and,  that  done,  the  very  effort  of 
its  achievement  exhausts  them,  and  they  rise  not  again  to 
the  summit  of  their  meridian.  So  it  was  with  Webster. 
He  knows  little  of  written  constitutions  and  frames  of 
government  who  does  not  know  that  they  exist  less  in 
the  letter  than  in  the  interpretation  and  construction  of 
the  letter.  In  this  light  it  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  the 
constitution  of  the  United  States,  as  it  existed  when  it 
sustained  our  country  through  the  recent  and  greatest 
peril  that  ever  tested  it,  and  as  it  reflected  the  popular 
sense,  was  the  crystallization  of  the  mind  of  Webster. 
It  came  from  its  framers,  and  was  accepted  by  some  of 
our  own,  in  New  England,  as  a  compact  of  states,  sove- 


2  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 

reign  fn  all' buVoertain  enumerated  powers  delegated  to  a 
central  government.  He  made  it  the  crucible  of  a  welded 
iibion^  tliQ  charter  of  one,  great  country,  the  United  States 
oi  America.  £±e  made  those  states  a  nation  and  enfolded 
them  in  its  single  banner.  It  was  the  overwhelming  logic 
of  his  discussion,  the  household  familiarity  of  his  simple 
but  irresistible  statement,  that  gave  us  munition  with 
which  to  fight  the  war  for  the  preservation  of  the  union 
and  the  abolition  of  slavery.  It  was  his  eloquence,  clear 
as  crystal  and  precipitating  itself  in  the  schoolbooks  and 
literature  of  a  people,  which  had  trained  up  the  genera- 
tion of  twenty-five  years  ago  to  regard  this  nation  as  one, 
to  love  its  flag  with  a  patriotism  that  knew  no  faction  or 
section,  to  be  loyal  to  the  whole  country,  and  to  find  in 
its  constitution  power  to  suppress  any  hand  or  combina- 
tion raised  against  it.  The  great  rebellion  of  1861  went 
down  hardly  more  before  the  cannon  of  Grant  and  Far- 
ragut  than  the  thunder  of  Webster's  reply  to  Hayne.  He 
knew  not  the  extent  of  his  own  achievement.  His  great- 
est failure  was  that  he  rose  not  to  the  height  and  actual 
stroke  of  his  own  resistless  argument,  and  that  he  lacked 
the  sublimed  inspiration,  the  disentanglement  and  the 
courage  to  let  the  giant  he  had  created  go  upon  his  errand, 
first  of  force  and  then  through  that  of  surer  peace.  He  had 
put  the  work  and  genius  of  more  than  an  ordinary  lifetime 
of  service  into  the  arching  and  knitting  of  the  union,  and 
this  he  could  not  bear  to  put  to  the  final  test.  His  great 
heart  was  sincere  in  the  prayer  that  his  eyes  might  not 
behold  the  earthquake  that  would  shake  it  to  those  foun- 
dations, which,  though  he  knew  it  not,  he  had  made  so 
strong  that  a  succeeding  generation  saw  them  stand  the 
shock  as  the  oak  withstands  the  storm.  Men  are  not  gods, 
and  it  needed  in  him  that  he  should  rise  to  a  moral  sub- 


DANIEL  WEBSTER.  8 

limity  and  daring  as  lofty  as  the  intellectual  heights  above 
which  he  soared  with  unequaled  strength.  So  had  he 
been  godlike. 

A  great  man  touches  the  heart  of  the  people  as  well  as 
their  intelligence.  They  not  only  admire,  they  also  love 
him.  It  sometimes  seems  as  if  they  sought  in  him  some 
weakness  of  our  common  human  nature,  that  they  might 
chide  him  for  it,  then  forgive  it,  and  so  endear  him  to  them- 
selves the  more.  Massachusetts  had  her  friction  with  the 
younger  Adams  only  to  lay  him  away  with  profounder 
honor,  and  to  remember  him  devotedly  as  the  defender  of 
the  right  of  petition  and  "  the  old  man  eloquent."  She 
forgave  the  overweening  conceit  of  Sumner ;  she  revoked 
her  unjust  censure  of  him,  and  now  points  her  youth  to 
him  in  his  high  niche  as  the  unsullied  patriot  without 
fear  and  without  reproach,  who  stood  and  spoke  for  equal 
rights,  and  whose  last  great  service  was  to  demand  and 
enforce  his  country's  just  claims  against  the  dishonorable 
trespass  of  the  cruisers  of  that  England  he  had  so  much 
admired.  Massachusetts  smote  and  broke  the  heart  of 
Webster,  her  idol,  and  then  broke  her  own  above  his 
grave,  and  to-day  writes  his  name  highest  upon  her  roll  of 
statesmen.  It  seems  disjointed  to  say  that,  with  such 
might  as  his,  the  impression  that  comes  from  his  face  upon 
the  wall,  as  from  his  silhouette  upon  the  background  of 
our  history,  is  that  of  sadness,  —  the  sadness  of  the  great 
deep  eyes,  the  sadness  of  the  lonely  shore  he  loved,  and 
by  which  he  sleeps.  But  the  story  of  Webster  from  the 
beginning  is  the  very  pathos  of  romance.  A  minor  chord 
runs  through  it  like  the  tenderest  note  in  a  song.  What 
eloquence  of  tears  is  in  that  narrative,  which  reveals  in 
this  giant  of  intellectual  strength  the  heart,  the  single, 
loving  heart  of  a  child,  and  in  which  he  describes  the  win- 


4  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 

ter  sleigh-ride  up  the  New  Hampshire  hills,  when  his  father 
told  him  that,  at  whatever  cost,  he  should  have  a  college 
education,  and  he,  too  full  to  speak,  laid  his  head  upon  his 
father's  shoulder  and  wept ! 

The  greatness  of  Webster  and  his  title  to  enduring 
gratitude  have  two  illustrations.  He  taught  the  people  of 
the  United  States,  in  the  simplicity  of  common  under- 
standing, the  principles  of  the  constitution  and  govern- 
ment of  the  country ;  and  he  wrought  for  them,  in  a  style 
of  matchless  strength  and  beauty,  the  literature  of  states- 
manship. From  his  lips  flowed  the  discussion  of  consti- 
tutional law,  of  economic  philosophy,  of  finance,  of  inter- 
national right,  of  national  grandeur,  and  of  the  whole 
range  of  high  public  themes,  so  clear  and  judicial  that  it 
was  no  longer  discussion,  but  judgment.  To-day,  and  so 
it  will  be  while  the  republic  endures,  the  student  and  the 
legislator  turn  to  the  full  fountain  of  his  statement  for 
the  enunciation  of  these  principles.  What  other  author- 
ity is  quoted,  or  holds  even  the  second  or  third  place? 
Even  his  words  have  imbedded  themselves  in  the  common 
phraseology,  and  come  to  the  tong*ue  like  passages  from  the 
psalms  or  the  poets.  I  do  not  know  that  a  sentence  or  a 
word  of  Sumner's  repeats  itself  in  our  every-day  par- 
lance. The  exquisite  periods  of  Everett  are  recalled  like 
the  consummate  work  of  some  master  of  music,  but  no 
note  or  refrain  sings  itself  over  and  over  again  to  our  ears. 
The  brilliant  eloquence  of  Choate  is  like  the  flash  of  a 
bursting  rocket,  lingering  upon  the  retina  indeed  after  it 
has  faded  from  the  wings  of  night,  but  as  illusive  of  our 
grasp  as  spray-drops  that  glisten  in  the  sun.  The  fiery 
enthusiasm  of  Andrew  did,  indeed,  burn  some  of  his 
heart-beats  forever  into  the  sentiment  of  Massachusetts ; 
but  Webster  made  his  language  the  very  household  words 


DANIEL  WEBSTER.  6 

of  a  nation.  They  are  the  library  of  a  people.  They 
inspired  and  still  inspire  patriotism.  They  taught  and 
still  teach  loyalty.  They  are  the  schoolbook  of  the  citi- 
zen. They  are  the  inwrought  and  accepted  fibre  of 
American  politics.  If  the  temple  of  our  republic  shall 
ever  fall,  they  will  "  still  live"  above  the  ground,  like  those 
great  foundation-stones  in  ancient  ruins  which  remain  in 
lonely  grandeur,  unburied  in  the  dust  that  over  all  else 
springs  to  turf,  and  make  men  wonder  from  what  rare 
quarry  and  by  what  mighty  force  they  came.  To  Webster 
almost  more  than  to  any  other  man,  —  nay,  at  this  distance, 
and  in  the  generous  spirit  of  this  occasion,  it  is  hard  to 
discriminate  among  the  lustrous  names  which  now  cluster 
at  the  gates  of  heaven  as  golden  bars  mass  the  west  at 
sunset,  —  yet  to  Webster,  especially  of  them  all,  is  it  due 
that  to-day,  wherever  a  son  of  the  United  States,  at  home 
or  abroad,  ''  beholds  the  gorgeous  ensign  of  the  republic, 
now  known  and  honored  throughout  the  earth,  still  full 
high  advanced,  its  arms  and  trophies  streaming  in  their 
original  lustre,  not  a  stripe  erased  or  polluted,  not  a 
single  star  obscured,"  he  can  utter  a  prouder  boast  than 
"  Civis  Romanus  sum."  For  he  can  say,  I  am  an  Ameri- 
can citizen. 


WENDELL  PHILLIPS. 

At  a  Memorial  Meeting  in  the   Congregational  Church, 
Washington,  D.  C,  February  22, 1884. 

Except  amid  the  affectionate  associations  of  his  native 
place  and  home,  no  spot  could  be  more  fitting  in  which  to 
honor  the  memory  of  Wendell  Phillips  than  the  capital 
of  the  nation  whose  one  great  blot  his  fiery  eloquence 
burnt  out.  No  day  could  be  more  appropriate  than  the 
birthday  of  Washington,  whose  victories  for  American 
independence  were  but  half  won  till  this  zealot  preached 
the  crusade  that  crowned  them  at  Appomattox.  No  body 
of  men  could  more  fitly  gather  around  his  open  grave  and 
bedew  it  with  their  grateful  tears  than  those  who  repre- 
sent the  race  whose  shackles  he  turned  into  garlands  amid 
which  they  now  lay  him  to  rest.  Well  may  the  "  Goddess 
of  Liberty "  on  yonder  dome  strain  her  tear-dimmed  eyes 
to  the  north,  listening  to  catch  once  more  the  thrill  of  a 
voice,  but  for  which  she  might  have  towered  this  day  only 
as  a  brazen  lie.  Of  the  great  names  that  in  these  latter 
days  of  the  republic  stand  for  its  redemption  from  crime 
against  itself,  and  for  its  perfected  consecration  to  human 
freedom,  his  blazes  out  among  the  foremost  few.  Upon 
the  earlier  anti-slavery  heights,  he  gives  place  to  Garrison 
alone.  And  when  I  remember  that  in  my  own  honored 
commonwealth  —  in  Massachusetts,  star  of  the  North  — 
flamed  these  two  immortal  spirits,  and  so  many  others 
who  clustered  around  them,  I  cannot  refrain  from  joining 
my  voice  with  yours  in  honoring  this  one  of  them  which 
has  latest  taken  its  flight  back  to  God,  who  gave  it. 


WENDELL  PHILLIPS.  T 

In  the  case  of  most  great  men,  even  of  those  who  sug- 
gest their  limitations  least,  we  speak  of  the  steps,  the 
milestones,  the  dates,  and  events  of  their  career.  But  to 
recite  those  of  Wendell  Phillips  seems  out  of  place.  His 
was  the  force,  not  of  the  stream,  which  gathers  volume 
as  it  flows,  and  pours  its  resistless  flood  in  a  steady  cur- 
rent, marking  its  beneficence  by  the  fair  cities  it  builds 
along  its  banks ;  nor  of  the  fire  which,  under  the  mastery 
of  law,  turns  the  mighty  wheels  of  the  machinery  and 
onward  locomotion  of  the  age  ;  but  rather  of  the  wind 
that  bloweth  where  it  listeth,  now  in  the  exquisite  music 
of  a  zephyr  over  an  aeolian  harp  strung  with  human  sym- 
pathies and  graces,  and  now  in  the  sweep  of  a  tornado, 
smiting  every  rotten  trunk  to  the  earth,  and  making  even 
the  sturdy  and  honest  oak  bend  before  its  storm.  His 
was  not  the  service  of  Lincoln  or  Andrew  in  executive 
station,  of  Sumner  or  Stevens  in  Congress,  of  Grant  or 
Sherman  in  the  field,  adapting  means  to  successive  steps 
of  advance,  and  working  through  the  best  agencies  at 
hand  to  achieve  the  best  results  possible ;  but  it  was  the 
service  of  the  torch  that  is  flung  at  large  to  kindle  the 
conflagration  at  the  beginning,  and,  whatever  burns,  to 
keep  it  flaming  on.  He  was  no  patient  ox,  toiling  under 
the  yoke  and  at  his  load.  He  was  often  rather  the  goad- 
stick  which  pricked  those  who  were  dragging  burdens, 
in  the  homely  carriage  of  which  he  was  less  serviceable 
than  were  those  he  prodded.  He  was  a  man  of  inspira- 
tions, not  of  affairs.  His  not  to  make  or  interpret  or 
execute  the  law ;  his  not  the  equipment  for  that  work ; 
but  his  to  quicken  the  public  sentiment  of  which  law 
is  the  expression  and  force.  When  its  formulation  and 
fruit  had  come  for  others,  when  they  had  encamped  con- 
tent, this  pillar  of  cloud  by  day  and  of  fire  by  night  was 


8  WENDELL  PHILLIPS. 

already  in  the  nebulous  distance,  beckoning  tbem  to  a 
new  lead  and  advance.  Not  the  safest  guide  in  the  slow 
and  sure  economies  of  material  welfare,  he  ^as  rather 
the  prophet  of  the  people's  conscience,  the  poet  of  their 
noblest  impulses. 

It  seems  as  if  when,  in  Faneuil  Hall  nearly  fifty  years 
ago,  in  his  early  youth,  he  leaped  into  the  arena  for  hu- 
man rights,  he  flung  aside  every  incumbrance  of  ordinary 
growth  toward  the  achievement  of  a  plan  of  life,  and 
streamed  at  once  into  flame.  Born  a  patrician,  he  was 
such  a  tribune  of  the  people  as  Kome  never  dreamed 
of,  who  knew  no  law,  only  the  law  of  their  enlargement 
and  of  their  broadening,  and  of  their  equal  rights  of  life, 
liberty,  and  the  pursuit  of  happiness.  With  the  genius 
of  a  scholar,  touched  with  the  fine  culture  of  letters,  his 
mind  itself  a  classic,  he  scorned  the  noble  avenues  of  the 
statesman,  the  useful  walks  of  political  service,  the  delights 
of  literature,  all  of  which  lay  at  his  hand,  and  gave  him- 
self to  the  passionate  impulses  of  a  great  human  charity,  — 
to  the  cause  of  the  oppressed,  the  enslaved,  the  poor,  the 
down-trodden,  and  the  friendless.  Into  the  great  anti- 
slavery  cause  and  conflict  he  rode,  —  a  warrior  whose 
sword  was  to  flash  and  whose  voice  was  to  ring  till  the  last 
battlefield  was  won.  To  that  cause  he  gave  all  except 
that  exquisite  loyalty  to  her  who  sat  at  his  hearth,  which, 
faithful  even  unto  death,  is  now  as  grateful  and  sweet  to 
the  American  people  as  the  white  leaves  of  a  flower  or 
the  tenderest  heart-beat  in  a  poet's  song.  For  that  cause 
he  sacrificed  all,  enduring,  as  it  is  impossible  now  to  real- 
ize, obloquy  and  shame,  hissing  and  hate.  No  man  is 
altogether  the  master  of  his  own  character  or  inclination, 
and  it  is  not,  perhaps,  to  be  wondered  at  that,  from  the 
terrific  ordeal  through  which  in  those  days  PhiUips  went, 


WENDELL  PHILLIPS.  9 

and  from  the  wounds  he  then  received  at  the  hands  of  his 
own  caste,  came  something  of  the  spirit  that  never  after 
could  quite  reconcile  itself  with  the  ranks  that  later  were 
sincerely  ready  to  do  him  justice.  A  victim  of  injustice, 
there  were  times  when  he  did  injustice.  And  perhaps 
there  could  be  no  more  complete  tribute  to  his  character, 
than  that  in  his  later  years,  as  well  as  now  in  the  halo  of 
his  death,  his  eloquence,  his  singleness  and  purity  of  pur- 
pose, his  lofty  integrity,  and  his  great  work  were  the  ac- 
knowledgment and  pride  of  all  his  fellow  citizens  alike ; 
and  that  to  question  his  opinions  was  never  to  accuse  the 
disinterested  fervor  of  his  convictions  and  ideas.  Ah 
with  what  admiration  —  it  seems  but  yesterday  in  the 
streets  of  Boston  —  we  looked,  as  we  saw  above  the  throng 
that  commanding  and  high-spirited  face,  never  quite  free 
from  its  scorn  of  conscious  superiority!  "We  turned  to 
gaze  upon  him  when  he  had  passed,  —  that  higher-bred 
and  more  beautiful  Puritan  Apollo,  whose  tongue  was  his 
lute,  and  whose  swift  shaft  was  winged  with  the  immor- 
tal fire  of  liberty.  A  city-full  and  a  nation-full  honor 
him.  He  has  his  reward  in  the  praise  even  of  those  who 
differed  from  him  most ;  and  he  has  his  reward  —  and  to 
him  it  is  the  sweetest  —  in  the  tears  and  gratitude  of 
thousands  in  humble  life,  to  whom  his  name  is  as  that 
thought  of  a  friend,  which  to  many,  alas,  is  so  rare,  yet 
by  every  human  being  is  so  longed  for.  There  are  hmn- 
ble  homes  of  plain  living,  but  of  high  thinking,  in 
my  own  New  England,  under  the  shadow  of  Plymouth 
Rock,  along  the  sea  and  among  the  farms,  to  which  my 
heart  turns  as  I  speak,  and  in  which  are  men  and  women, 
peers  of  his  courage  and  humanity,  though  not  of  his  gifts 
and  fame,  who  remember  and  mourn  this  leader,  whose 
eloquence  and  fire  kindled  their  youth  with  enthusiasm 


10  WENDELL  PHILLIPS. 

for  human  rights,  and  who  endeared  himself  to  them  by- 
sharing  with  them  the  persecution  of  the  opinions  of  that 
time.  There  are  oppressed  peoples  in  foreign  lands  who 
lament  an  advocate  and  champion  of  the  larger  and 
sweeter  liberty  of  which  they  dream,  and  which  he  yearned 
to  see  them  enjoy.  There  are  five  million  citizens  of  our 
own,  to  whom  and  to  whose  descendants  he  will  be  as  a 
deliverer,  like  him  who  led  the  children  of  Israel  out  of 
their  bondage. 

As  in  his  own  career  PhiUips  disdained  the  ordinary 
steps  and  methods  of  influence  and  growth,  so  in  any  es- 
timate of  him  all  the  ordinary  modes  of  analysis  and 
criticism  are  useless.  What  are  his  errors  in  economical 
science ;  what  are  his  mistaken  estimates  of  men  and  mea- 
sures ;  what  are  his  bitter  injustices  to  patriots  as  true  as 
himself ;  what  are  his  rashnesses  of  judgment,  looked  at  in 
the  light  of  his  lofty  consecration  to  his  fellow  men  and 
of  that  absolute  innocence  of  any  purpose  of  self-aggran- 
dizement, which  you  felt  as  distinctly  in  his  character  as 
you  heard  the  music  in  his  voice,  and  which  separated 
him  so  utterly  from  the  mouthing  demagogues  whose  self- 
seeking  is  as  patent  as  their  roar  ?  What  are  all  these,  if 
these  there  were,  except  as  they  were  the  incidentals,  not 
the  essentials,  of  a  nature  that  went  to  its  mark  with  the 
relentless  stroke  of  the  lightning,  and,  had  it  not  been 
the  lightning,  would  have  been  nothing?  Our  glorious 
summer  days  sometimes  breed,  even  in  the  very  rankness 
of  their  opulence,  enervating  and  unhealthy  weaknesses. 
The  air  is  heavy.  Its  breath  poisons  the  blood;  the 
pulse  of  nature  is  sluggish  and  mean.  Then  come  the 
tempest  and  the  thunder.  So  was  it  in  the  body  politic, 
whether  the  plague  was  slavery  or  whatever  wrong  ; 
whether  it  was  weakness  in  men  of  high  degree  or  tyranny 


WENDELL  PHILLIPS.  11 

over  men  of  low  estate ;  whether  it  was  the  curse  of  the 
grog-shop,  or  the  iron  hand  of  the  despot  at  home  or 
abroad,  —  so  it  was  that  like  the  lightning  PhiUips  flashed 
and  struck.  The  scorching,  hissing  bolt  rent  the  air,  now 
here,  now  there.  From  heaven  to  earth,  now  wild  at  ran- 
dom, now  straight  it  shot.  It  streamed  across  the  sky. 
It  leaped  in  broken  links  of  a  chain  of  fire.  It  sometimes 
fell  with  reckless  indiscrimination  alike  on  the  just  and 
on  the  unjust.  It  sometimes  smote  the  innocent  as  well 
as  blasted  the  guilty.  But  when  the  tempest  was  over, 
there  was  a  purer  and  a  fresher  spirit  in  the  air,  and  a 
sweeter  health.  Louder  than  the  thunder,  mightier  than 
the  wind,  the  earthquake,  or  the  fire,  a  stiU  small  voice 
spake  in  the  public  heart,  and  the  public  conscience  woke. 


GEOKGE  F.  EDMUNDS. 

Nominating  Speech    in   the   Republican   Presidential 
Convention  at  Chicago,  June  5,  1884. 

Mr.  President  and  Fellow  Delegates,  —  We  are 
here  to  discharge  a  trust.  Let  us  remember  that  we  are 
to  account  for  it  hereafter.  I  appeal  to  the  unimpassioned 
judgment  of  this  convention.  I  appeal  from  the  excite- 
ment of  this  vast  concourse  to  the  afterthought  of  the 
firesides  of  the  people.  And  remembering  that  an  Ameri- 
can audience  never  fails  in  fair  play,  I  appeal  even  at 
this  late  hour  for  an  opportunity  for  brave  little  Vermont. 

The  Republican  party  commands  to-day  the  confidence 
of  the  country.  It  need  not  invoke  its  record  of  twenty- 
five  years,  for  that  is  the  common  knowledge  and  admira- 
tion of  the  world.  It  need  not  appeal  to  its  principles, 
for  those  are  the  very  foundation  of  the  marvelous  pro- 
gress and  prosperity  of  this  great  republic.  There  only 
needs  that,  in  its  candidate,  in  the  simple  elements  of  his 
personal  and  public  character,  it  furnish  a  guarantee  of 
its  continued  fidelity  to  itself.  There  only  needs  that  it 
respond  to  the  instinct  of  the  people.  That  done,  its 
triumph  in  the  coming  presidential  election  is  as  sure  as 
the  coming  of  election  day.  But,  gentlemen,  that  instinct 
must  be  obeyed.  It  represents  a  demand  which  is  as  in- 
exorable as  fate  itseK.  It  recognizes  the  merits  and  the 
services  of  all  the  candidates  before  us.  It  obtrudes  no 
word  of  depreciation  for  any  of  them.  It  cares  little  for 
issues  of  expediency  or  preferences  of  personal  or  party 


GEORGE  F.  EDMUNDS.  13 

liking.  But  by  that  awful  voice  of  the  people  which  is 
as  the  voice  of  God,  it  sets  an  imperative  standard  of  its 
choice  and  bids  us  rise  to  that  or  fall. 

We  are  convened,  therefore,  in  behalf  of  no  man. 
The  country  and  the  party  are  greater  than  the  fortunes 
or  the  interests  of  any  man,  however  dear  or  honored. 
We  are  here  as  Republicans,  and  yet  brave  and  broad 
enough  not  to  be  here  in  the  interest  of  the  Republican 
party  alone.  Even  in  this  tumultuous  excitement  we  feel 
that,  charged  with  the  most  sacred  responsibilities  that  can 
fall  upon  representatives  of  the  people,  we  are  here  in 
the  interests  of  the  people,  and  all  the  people — of  the  coun- 
try and  the  whole  country.  We  are  here  to  select  for  Pres- 
ident a  man  from  our  own  ranks,  indeed,  but  a  man  whose 
record  and  character,  whose  tested  service,  whose  tried 
incorruptibility,  whose  unscathed  walk  through  the  storms 
and  fires  of  public  life,  whose  approved  wisdom  equal  to 
every  emergency,  whose  recognized  capacity  to  put  a  firm, 
safe  hand  upon  the  helm,  and  whose  hold  upon  the  con- 
fidence of  the  people,  make  him  not  our  choice  for  them, 
but  their  choice  for  themselves.  He  must  be  one  who 
will  command  their  undivided  support.  Not  merely  bril- 
liant qualities,  on  the  one  hand,  or  meritorious  qualities, 
on  the  other,  are  enough.  He  must  be  of  the  staying 
qualities  of  the  sturdiest  American  character.  He  must 
represent  no  wing  or  faction  of  the  party,  but  the  whole 
of  it.  He  must  be  one  who  will  hold  every  Republican 
to  his  cordial  allegiance,  who  will  rally  indifference  and 
independence  even  into  aroused  conviction  and  an  earnest 
front  on  our  line  ;  one  who  will  stand  for  every  beat  that 
ever  throbbed  in  the  national  heart  for  humanity,  free- 
dom, conscience,  and  reform ;  one  who  will  stand  for  what- 
ever has  been  honest  and  of  good  report  in  our  national 


14  GEORGE  F.   EDMUNDS. 

history — for  whatever  has  made  for  economy,  financial 
wisdom,  clean  politics,  and  the  integrity  of  national  life. 
And,  above  all,  he  must  be  one  whose  name  will  carry  in 
the  coming  canvass  that  sense  of  security  to  which,  at 
each  presidential  election,  the  country  turns  as  the  very 
rock  of  salvation.  Such  a  man,  honest  and  capable,  will 
first  master  the  sober  judgment  and  approval  of  the  peo- 
ple, and  thenceforward  stir  them  to  the  only  enthusiasm, 
my  friends,  that  counts,  and  that  is  the  enthusiasm  of  pub- 
lic confidence.  And  then  on  election  day,  conscious  where 
their  safety  lies,  the  irresistible  uprising  of  the  people, 
like  the  mighty  inrolling  of  an  ocean  tide,  will  sweep  him, 
never  fear,  into  the  highest  seat  of  your  public  service. 

That  is  the  measure  and  demand,  not  of  a  party,  but  of 
the  country.  Meet  it,  and  you  have  done  your  work  and 
won  your  victory  in  advance.  Kespond  here  and  now  to 
this  instinct  of  the  people,  and  they  will  take  care  of  the 
result.  The  standard  is  high,  but  the  candidate  I  name 
rises  to  it.  If  there  be  an  ideal  American  citizen  in  the 
best  sense,  it  is  he.  You  know,  the  people  know,  that  his 
character,  his  ability,  his  worth,  his  courage  are  as  recog- 
nized and  familiar  as  a  household  word.  Calumny  dare 
not  assail  him,  and,  if  it  dare,  recoils  as  from  a  galvanic 
shock.  Against  no  other  candidate  can  less  be  said  than 
against  him.     For  no  other  candidate  can  more. 

I  stand  here,  Mr.  President,  honored  though  I  stood 
alone,  with  the  duty  of  presenting  his  name  to  this  con- 
vention. But  it  is  not  I,  it  is  not  the  State  nor  the  dele- 
gates whom  I  here  represent,  who  present  that  name  to 
you.  It  is  presented  by  uncounted  numbers  of  our  fellow 
citizens,  good  men  and  true,  all  over  this  land,  who  only 
await  his  nomination  to  spring  to  the  swift  and  hearty 
work  of  his  election.     It  is  presented  by  an  intelligent 


GEORGE  F.  EDMUNDS.  15 

press,  from  Maine  to  California,  representing  a  healthy 
public  sentiment  and  an  advanced  public  demand.  It  is 
the  name  of  one  whose  letter  of  acceptance  of  an  unso- 
licited honor  will  constitute  all  the  machinery  he  will 
have  put  into  its  procurement.  It  is  a  name  which  in 
itself  is  a  guarantee  of  inflexible  honesty  in  government, 
and  of  the  best  and  wisest  cabinet  the  country  can  afford, 
—  no  man  in  it  greater  than  its  head.  It  is  a  guarantee 
of  appointments  to  office,  fit,  clean,  and  disinterested  all 
the  way  through,  —  a  guarantee  of  an  administration 
which  I  believe,  and  which  in  your  hearts  you  know,  will 
realize,  not  only  at  home,  but  abroad,  the  very  highest 
conceptions  of  American  statesmanship.  It  is  a  name, 
too,  which  will  carry  over  all  the  land  a  grateful  feeling 
of  serenity  and  security  like  the  benignant  promise  of  a 
"perfect  day  in  June."  It  will  be  as  wholesome  and 
refreshing  as  the  green  mountains  of  the  native  State  of 
him  who  bears  it.  Their  smnmits  tower  not  higher  than 
his  worth;  their  foundations  are  not  firmer  than  his 
convictions  and  truth;  the  verdant  and  prolific  slopes 
that  grow  great  harvests  at  their  feet  are  not  richer  than 
the  fruitage  of  his  long  and  lofty  labors  in  the  service 
of  his  country.  Honest  and  capable,  unexceptionable 
and  fit,  the  best  and  most  available,  the  very  staunchest 
of  the  old  Republican  guard,  the  most  unflinching  of 
American  patriots,  with  the  kindly  heart  of  a  courteous 
gentleman,  as  well  as  the  robust  and  rugged  mind  of  a 
great  statesman,  not  more  sternly  just  in  the  halls  of  Con- 
gTess  than  tender  in  that  sanctity  of  the  American  heart, 
the  American  home,  a  man  of  no  class,  no  caste,  no  pre- 
tense, but  a  man  of  the  people.  East,  West,  North,  South, 
because  a  representative  of  their  homeliest,  plainest, 
and  best  characteristics !     Massachusetts,  enthusiastically 


16  GEORGE  F.  EDMUNDS. 

leaping  her  own  borders,  commends  and  nominates  him  to 
this  great  Republican  convention  as  the  man  it  seeks,  as  a 
man  of  its  instinctive  and  honest  choice,  as  the  one  man 
whom  its  constituents  everywhere  will  hail  with  one  un- 
broken shout,  not  only  of  satisfaction,  but  of  relief. 

Gentlemen,  I  nominate  as  the  Republican  candidate  for 
the  next  President  of  the  United  States  the  Honorable, 
aye,  the  honorable  George  F.  Edmunds  of  Vermont. 


KESPONSE 

At  the  Dinner  of  the  New  England  Society  on  Forefathers' 
Day,  at  Delmonico's,  New  York,  December  22, 1884. 

I  OUGHT  to  thank  you,  Mr.  Chairman,  for  assigning 
to  me  a  toast  of  such  remote  reference  as  "  Forefathers' 
Day."  Some  of  us  in  New  England  feel  just  at  this  time 
like  going  as  far  back  as  possible  for  any  cause  of  victori- 
ous glorification.  You  here  in  New  York  may  knock  over 
our  modern  fetiches,  but  you  cannot  reach  the  chip  on  the 
shoulder  of  our  Pilgrim  forefather.  We  celebrate  to- 
night the  day  of  his  landing  two  hundred  and  sixty-four 
years  ago.  I  suppose  I  shall  startle  nobody  if  I  say  it 
was  a  great  event.  Indeed,  I  have  heard  gentlemen  inti- 
mate —  once  even  at  this  loyal  table,  though  I  am  bound 
to  say  it  was  the  envious  utterance  of  a  Knickerbocker  — 
that  they  would  admit  its  greatness  if  we  who  glory  in  it 
would  not  argue  and  assert  it  so  loudly  and  so  often.  As 
Judge  Hoar  said  of  the  malcontents  in  the  recent  politi- 
cal campaign,  if  they  needs  must  go  out  they  needn't 
slam  the  door  so  hard ;  so  these  suggest  that,  if  we  must 
praise  the  Pilgrim,  we  need  not  do  it  in  such  a  way  as  to 
make  comparison  with  the  ancestors  of  other  people  not 
altogether  agreeable.  Our  modest  answer  is  that  we  can- 
not help  it  if  the  superiority  in  that  respect  is  on  our  side. 
We  cannot  help  it,  but  we  can  be  merciful.  We  should 
remember  that  even  an  Athenian  tired  of  hearing  Aris- 
tides  always  called  the  Just.  In  our  case,  also,  I  doubt 
not  the  lessons  we  draw  get  to  be  somewhat  monotonous 


18  THE  PILGRIMS. 

and  heavy.  It  was  a  wise  little  girl  —  my  own  —  who 
said,  when  a  good  old  lady  offered  to  tell  her  a  nice  story, 
she  would  like  to  hear  it  if  she  were  not  pretty  sure  there 
would  be  the  usual  moral  at  the  end  of  it. 

And  there  is  another  reason  why  one  should  hesitate  to 
pay  the  tribute  of  your  society  to  the  Pilgrims.  The 
eagle  has  been  let  loose  so  often  that  his  wings  are  a  little 
shaky.  I  admit  that  I  ought  to  respond.  I  represent,  to 
put  it  mildly,  the  foremost  Congressional  District  in  the 
United  States,  before  which  Boston  and  this  magnificent 
conglomerate  which  you  call  New  York  pale  their  intel- 
lectual fires,  for  in  it  is  Plymouth  Rock.  My  direct 
ancestor,  too,  Thomas  Clark,  who  came  over  in  the  third 
Pilgrim  ship,  the  Anne,  in  1623,  resides  on  Burial  HiU 
in  an  humble  one-story  basement,  and  his  is  one  of  the 
three  or  four  original  gravestones  still  standing  there.  I 
have  no  doubt  that  he  now  regards  himself  as  well  repaid 
for  the  hardships  of  his  earthly  pilgrimage,  when  he  re- 
flects that  his  grandson  in  a  remote  generation  draws  an 
indifferently  earned  salary  from  the  treasury  of  the  mighty 
empire  he  helped  to  found.  I  trust  that  I,  at  my  end  of 
the  line,  feel  a  due  sense  of  filial  gratitude  to  him  for  his 
labors  and  perils  in  that  behalf,  when  monthly  I  draw 
that  humble  stipend.  Indeed,  I  sometimes  think  we  do 
not  sufficiently  appreciate  what  our  fathers  did  for  us  in 
that  respect.  We  are  too  apt  to  limit  our  appreciation  to 
certain  commonplaces  of  fundamental  moral  principles,  of 
great  lumbering  planks  of  civil  and  religious  liberty,  and 
of  education,  with  its  three  R's,  Reading,  'Riting,  and 
'Rithmetic,  which  have  recently  been  corrupted  into  that 
more  striking,  perhaps,  but  certainly  unfortunate  allit- 
eration which  an  illiterate  preacher  lately  misquoted  as 
"  Rum,  Romanism,  and  Rebellion." 


THE  PILGRIMS.  19 

We  should  go  further,  and  extend  our  appreciation  to 
the  homelier  but  closer-coming  blessings  of  the  Govern- 
ment they  founded,  with  its  public  trough  of  one  hundred 
and  fifty  thousand  compartments,  more  or  less,  its  udders 
of  emolumental  patronage  flowing  with  milk  and  soap, 
and  its  warm  official  hearth-fires,  where,  after  half  the 
boys  have  toasted  their  shins  for  four  years,  the  other  half 
demand  to  come  in  from  their  dance  on  the  cold  pavement 
and  toast  theirs,  when,  as  in  the  recent  electoral  contest, 
one  good  party  is  turned  down  and  out,  and  another, 
which  has  yet  to  earn,  as  let  us  trust  it  will  earn,  its  laud- 
atory adjective,  is  brought  to  the  top  by  a  mysterious  dis- 
pensation which  the  same  preacher,  mourning  defeat, 
yet  dutifuUy  resigned,  meaning  to  quote  correctly  and 
reverently,  but  unsuccessful  in  the  attempt,  might  have 
called  the  dispensation  of  "  an  All-wise  but  Unscrupulous 
Providence." 

Yes,  I  hesitate  at  your  toast.  I  am  like  a  neophyte 
who  scrapes  the  bow  across  a  violin  and  makes  it  an  in- 
strument of  torture.  I  think  of  the  master  who,  nestling 
it  tenderly  beneath  his  cheek,  as  if  it  and  he  were  one, 
touches  the  sweet  chords  of  however  ancient  a  melody, 
and,  rapt  himseK,  enwraps  our  listening  souls  in  memories 
that  by  turns  stir  us  to  heroism  or  melt  us  to  tears.  The 
poetry  of  life  is  its  crown,  —  that  exaltation  of  sentiment, 
of  religious  feeling,  of  heroic  endeavor,  of  immortal  aspi- 
ration, which  make  life,  when  at  its  best,  a  poem.  And 
never  since  Moses  led  the  children  of  Israel  toward  the 
promised  land  has  there  been  such  an  epic  as  the  voyage 
of  the  Mayflower  and  the  landing  at  Plymouth.  If  the 
master  of  a  nobler  instriunent  than  the  violin  could  sweep 
the  chords  of  that  great  song,  he  would  wake  no  dirge  or 
lament,  but  the  melody  of  the  universal  heart,  the  spirit 


20  THE  PILGRIMS. 

of  loftiest  vision,  and  would  indeed  by  turns  stir  to  hero- 
ism and  melt  to  tears.  Ah,  how  narrowly  and  mistakenly 
we  limit  those  men  and  women  of  the  Mayflower  when 
we  shrivel  them  with  the  winter  blast  of  a  December  day, 
harden  them  into  the  solemnity  of  ascetics,  or  think  of 
them  as  refugees  from  personal  annoyances. 

While  they  were,  as  some  one  has  said,  "  neither  Puri- 
tans nor  persecutors,"  they  were,  as  is  too  rarely  said, 
something  far  more,  —  they  were  poets,  they  were  idealists. 
They  were  glad  children  of  the  light,  seeking  for  "  more 
light."  They  were  warm  with  youth  and  adventure,  yet 
transcendentalists  mounting  a  new  heaven.  Read  the 
compact  drawn  in  the  cabin  of  the  Mayflower,  —  read  in 
it  the  statement  of  the  object  of  their  coming,  and  say 
where  has  the  genius  of  bard  or  prophet  struck  such  a 
strain  as  those  words  expressive  of  their  purpose :  "  For 
the  glory  of  God  and  advancement  of  the  Christian  faith 
and  honor  of  our  King  and  countrie !  "  Here  is  no 
wretched  care  for  personal  interests,  no  craven  thought  of 
flight  or  escape  from  petty  persecutions,  no  whining  solici- 
tude for  individual  fortune,  but  the  high  soul  of  men  who 
"  plant  a  colony  "  and  found  an  empire  for  nothing  less 
than  the  glory  of  God,  the  advancement  of  their  faith, 
the  honor  of  their  country.  This  is  not  the  fuss  of  a 
house-moving,  but  the  sublimity  of  inspired  poetic  genius, 
as  it  is  also  the  consummation  of  statesmanship  and  patri- 
otism. To  them  the  coast,  which  Mrs.  Hemans  has  so 
extravagantly  belied,  and  which  is  really  as  gentle  as  a 
post-election  editorial,  was  the  fringe  of  God's  paradise ; 
its  wild  grapes  and  red  berries  and  running  vines,  and 
its  mayflowers,  peeping  in  spring-time  through  its  moss, 
were  the  bursting  glory  of  a  better  than  tropical  luxuri- 
ance. 


THE  PILGRIMS.  21 

Do  you  think  any  ignobler  spirit  than  the  poet's 
wrought  this  vision,  or  would  have  kept  them  there  when 
the  first  winter  struck  down  half  their  number,  and,  stand- 
ing on  the  hill,  they  watched  the  sails  of  the  returning 
Mayflower  fade  out  in  the  light  of  an  April  day  ?  You 
sneer  at  their  psalm-singing  and  think  complacently  of 
a  shrieking  opera.  That  is  because  you  know  only  of 
psalms  sung  through  the  nose.  They  sung  psalms,  but 
they  were  songs  of  high  cheer  and  were  their  melody  and 
outburst,  —  not  sombre  strains,  but  peace,  supremacy,  and 
content,  in  which  mingled  the  fireside  voices  of  pure 
women  and  happy  children.  You  think  they  shrank  from 
the  savage  and  heard  his  whoop  in  their  dreams.  That  is 
because  you  are  timid  and  live  in  cities.  To  them  the 
Indian's  first  word  was  "  Welcome,  Englishmen."  With 
now  and  then  a  rare  and  wholesome  correction,  he  lived 
in  peace  with  them  for  generations  ;  and  tradition  has  it 
that  two  children  of  the  forest  begged  to  be  buried  at  the 
feet  of  Bradford,  and  now  lie  with  him  on  Burial  Hill. 
Fear !  Standish,  panting  for  the  elbow-room  of  perfect 
freedom,  and  separating  himself  from  the  rest,  even  as 
they  had  all  separated  themselves  from  their  English 
homes,  dwelt  apart  across  the  channel  in  the  grandeur  of 
his  solitary  Duxbury  realm. 

You  think  there  was  no  softness  or  merriment  in  their 
lives  ;  but  you  forget  that  John  Alden  looked  in  the  eyes 
of  Priscilla  Mullens  and  walked  with  her  in  the  "  lovers' 
lanes"  of  the  "forest  primeval."  You  forget  to  catch 
the  laugh  with  which  Mary  Chilton,  ancestress  of  Copley 
and  Lyndhurst,  waded  from  the  boat  to  the  shore,  —  first 
woman  of  them  all  to  put  her  dainty  foot  on  American 
soil.  You  forget  the  romance  of  Alice  Southworth's  com- 
ing later  over  from  England  to  wed  the  young  widower 


22  THE  PILGRIMS. 

Bradford,  who  had  loved  her  when  a  girl  among  the  Eng- 
lish hawthorns.  You  forget  that  the  Pilgrim's  was  the 
first  New  England  home,  —  God  bless  it !  —  the  same  rural 
home  that  you  and  I  came  from,  over  whose  doors  the 
roses  grew  in  our  youth,  fading  there,  but  fresh  and  fra- 
grant always  here  in  our  hearts.  You  picture  a  rigid 
ecclesiastical  tyranny.  You  forget  that  there  was  among 
them  no  ordained  minister  —  happy  parish  !  —  and  that 
Brewster,  who  led  their  devotions,  had  been  a  man  of 
courts,  a  bearer  of  Queen  Elizabeth's  dispatches.  You 
pity  them  for  a  life  of  more  than  provincial  narrowness 
of  affairs.  You  forget  that  Winslow,  a  man  of  the  world 
and  of  travel  in  foreign  parts,  was  an  ambassador  and 
diplomat,  negotiating  treaties  with  Massasoit ;  that  he 
was  four  times  sent  over  sea  to  England  —  what  man  at 
this  board  can  equal  that  record  —  to  arrange  the  rela- 
tions of  the  old  world  with  the  new  ;  and  that  he  died  in 
the  service  of  Cromwell,  superintending  the  invasion  of 
the  West  Indies. 

Picture  Governor  Bradford,  in  his  long  cloak,  march- 
ing to  meeting  of  a  Sunday  morning,  flanked  on  one  side 
by  Brewster,  the  saint,  and  on  the  other  by  Standish,  the 
soldier.  Compared  with  that,  what  is  the  Fourth  of 
March  Inauguration  of  a  President,  flanked  on  both  sides 
by  expectants?  Think  of  the  stately  excursions  of  the 
Pilgrims  through  the  virgin  forest ;  their  quieting  of  In- 
dian troubles ;  their  making  of  history  where  we  make 
cloth  and  leather ;  their  adventurous  sailing  expeditions 
to  explore  Massachusetts  Bay,  the  wind  fresh,  the  waves 
rippling  in  the  sunshine,  the  freedom  of  a  new  world 
in  their  hearts,  and  anon  opening  on  their  gaze  the 
mouths  of  the  Charles  and  the  Mystic,  and  the  three  hills 
of   Boston,  silent   then,  but  never    silent   since.     Think 


THE  PILGRIMS.  23 

of  their  discreet  squelching  of  the  Independents,  who 
at  that  time  were  rioting  at  Merry  Mount  in  Quincy, 
and  who,  by  the  way,  still  infest  that  vicinity  even  to 
this  day,  as  my  own  imperiled  political  scalp  bears 
witness. 

These  Pilgrims  were  men  who  were  greater  than  the 
restrictions  of  English  life  ;  who  were  broader  than  the 
huckstering  and  traffic  of  their  Holland  tarrying-place ; 
and  who,  therefore,  fled  from  both,  gasping  for  larger 
breath.  They  were  no  narrow  Puritans  who  vexed  them- 
selves over  questions  of  method  or  form  or  discipline  in 
the  church.  They  broke  altogether  from  the  church  itself, 
were  separatists,  and  set  up  their  own  establishment  for 
themselves  and  for  the  New  World,  —  themselves  an  evan- 
gel of  religious  and  civil  liberty.  No  Puritans  they, 
intolerant  of  another's  faith,  but  great-hearted  liberals, 
welcoming  Roger  Williams,  the  original  mugwump,  when, 
driven  from  Salem,  he  came  to  them,  but  found  his  own 
sweet  will  so  dull,  that,  like  a  true  mugwump,  his  restless 
soul  soon  wearied  of  its  own  freedom,  and  he  returned 
to  the  intolerant  fold  that  had  driven  him  forth,  as  mug- 
wumps sooner  or  later  always  do  return,  and  as  intolerant 
folds  sooner  or  later  always  do  take  them  back.  Sym- 
pathy for  the  hardships  of  the  Pilgrim  fathers !  They 
would  laugh  at  you.  They  never  dreamed  of  yielding  or 
of  going  or  looking  back.  Why,  it  were  worth  a  thou- 
sand years,  a  cycle  of  Cathay,  to  have  breathed  the  air 
with  them,  to  have  put  one's  name  to  that  cabin  compact, 
to  have  planted  that  colony.  Compare  their  great  enter- 
prise and  range  with  selling  stocks  in  Wall  Street,  with 
the  strife  of  bulls  and  bears,  with  winning  or  losing  a 
Presidential  race,  and  in  either  case  being  trampled  on 
and  run  over  by  fifty  million  howling  American  citizens, 


24  THE  PILGRIMS. 

clergymen  included,  or  with  achieving  the  fame  of  figuring 
in  the  colored  prints  of  Puck  or  Jingo  ! 

Truth  is,  our  lives  are  the  rich  responsive  answer  to 
their  own.  Theirs  was  a  paean.  They  were  idealists,  poets, 
seers,  but  it  was  that  germinating  and  rich  idealism  which 
flowers  out  in  the  world's  glory  and  beneficence.  If  it 
was  poetry,  it  is  a  poetry  that  lives  after  them,  in  a  larger 
vitality  and  range.  Its  music  is  not  a  far-off  strain.  It 
is  not  confined  to  a  stone's-throw  from  the  rock  on  which 
they  set  foot.  It  rolls  across  a  continent  from  sea  to  sea. 
It  explores  the  frozen  zone,  and  just  now  wooes  and  wins 
the  Nicaraguan  Isthmus.  It  is  poetry,  indeed,  but  the 
poetry  of  industry,  of  growth,  of  school  and  farm,  of  shop 
and  ship  and  car.  You  hear  it  now  in  the  hum  of  ten 
thousand  mills,  in  the  trip  of  a  hundred  thousand  ham- 
mers, in  the  bustle  of  myriad  exchanges,  in  the  voice  of  a 
mighty  people  "who  are  a  mighty  people,  and  will  be 
mightier  yet,  because  and  so  far  as  they  are  true  to  the 
courage  of  the  Pilgrim  Fathers,  to  their  lofty  stride  and 
aspiration,  to  their  superiority  over  fortune  and  the  dust, 
to  their  foundations  of  education  and  the  home,  and  to 
their  consecration  of  themselves  to  the  glory  of  God,  the 
advancement  of  faith  and  the  honor  of  their  country. 

Forefathers'  Day  I  We  have  no  day  that  is  not  Fore- 
fathers' Day.  Our  national  Independence  is  their  sepa- 
ratism. Standish  is  the  common  prototype  of  Grant  and 
Sherman.  Whatever  is  wholesome  in  our  social  life  is  the 
effluence  of  their  homes.  Our  constitutional  liberty  and 
our  constitutional  law  are  the  consummate  flower  of  their 
compact.  I  doubt  if  there  be  to-day  a  radical  footprint 
that  may  not  trace  itself  to  them ;  and  many  an  economic 
and  industrial  result  is  an  issue  from  their  good  sense  and 
honest  labor.  Our  absorption  of  the  progressive  elements 
of  other  nationalities  and  religions,  illustrated  by  the  recent 


THE  PILGRIMS.  25 

election  of  an  Irish-born  Catholic  mayor  of  the  very  New 
England  metropolis,  is  philosophically  the  outgrowth  of 
the  liberalism  with  which  they  welcomed  aU  men  on  the 
common  ground  of  good  citizenship. 

This  great  democracy  of  ours,  the  broadest-based  and 
securest  government  in  the  world,  self-sufficient,  self-sus- 
taining, self-restrained,  and  developing  new  capacity  to 
meet  every  new  necessity  and  demand  of  its  own  stupen- 
dous and  startling  growth,  is  only  the  expansion  of  their 
own  democracy.  Let  us  do  our  duty  by  it  as  faithfully 
as  they  did  theirs.  Doing  that,  let  us  await  its  destiny  as 
calmly  as  did  they,  assured,  as  they  were,  that  liberty  is 
better  than  repression ;  that  liberty,  making  and  obeying 
its  own  laws,  is  God ;  and  that  unless  man,  made  in  His 
image,  is  a  failure,  the  self-government  of  a  free  and  edu- 
cated people,  whatever  its  occasional  vicissitudes,  will  not 
and  cannot  fail. 

I  do  not  know  that  in  cold  blood  I  could  stand  by  all  I 
have  said  concerning  the  Pilgrim  Fathers ;  but  do  we  not 
owe  them  something  more  than  a  half -disguised  sneer  or 
that  patronizing  crust  of  sympathy  which  we  toss  to  a 
shivering  beggar?  This  is  not  altogether  a  rhetorical 
interrogation.  I  believe  —  just  this  once  —  in  the  Meth- 
odist custom  of  passing  the  contribution-box,  provided  I 
hold  it  and  the  other  feUows  fiU  it.  At  Plymouth,  on  one 
of  its  hills,  overlooking  the  ocean,  is  a  noble  monument  of 
granite.  To  our  provincial  eyes  it  is  a  bigger  thing  than 
the  Washington  Monument.  The  pedestal  is  forty-five 
feet  high.  On  that  stands,  towering  thirty-six  feet  higher, 
a  colossal  statue  of  Faith,  the  generous  but  modest  gift 
of  a  donor  unknown  till  his  death.  Her  eyes  look  to- 
ward the  sea.  Forever  she  beholds  upon  its  waves  the  in- 
coming Mayflower.     She  sees  the  Pilgrims  land.     They 


26  THE  PILGRIMS. 

vanisli,  but  she,  tlie  monument  of  their  faith,  remains 
and  tells  their  story  to  the  world.  This  our  generation, 
too,  shall  pass  away,  and  its  successors  for  centuries  to 
come ;  but  she  will  stand,  and,  overlooking  our  forgotten 
memory,  will  still  speak  of  them  and  of  their  foundation 
of  the  republic  on  the  Plymouth  rocks  of  Faith,  Liberty, 
Law,  Morality,  and  Education. 

Around  the  pedestal  at  her  feet,  statues  of  the  two 
last  sit  in  kindred  granite.  Those  of  Liberty  and  Law 
are  yet  lacking,  as  they  were  not  lacking  in  the  temple 
which  the  Pilgrims  built.  What  a  happy  thing  it  would 
be  if  you,  the  New  England  Society  of  New  York  City, 
contributing  to  this  monumental  group  raised  to  their 
honor,  should  to  Faith,  Education,  and  Morality,  add  Law 
or  Liberty,  or  both ;  or,  rather  than  permit  any  favorit- 
ism in  such  an  inestimable  privilege,  if  you  should  add 
one  and  your  sister  society  in  Brooklyn  add  the  other. 


EULOGY 

On  Senator  Austin  F.  Pike,  of  New  Hampshire,  in  the 
House  of  Representatives  at  Washington,  February 
23, 1887. 

I  DO  not  rise,  Mr.  Speaker,  to  enlarge  upon  Senator 
Pike's  political  or  professional  career.  That  matter  is 
sufficiently  touched  by  those  more  familiar  with  it.  In 
that  respect  it  is  enough  for  me  that  his  life  was,  as  has 
been  portrayed,  one  of  faithful  service  and  perfect  integ- 
rity, and  that  honors  were  never  paid  to  a  man  of  more 
genuine  worth  or  honest  record. 

I  rise  rather  because,  during  his  senatorial  residence  in 
Washington,  we  lived  under  the  same  roof.  Almost 
daily  I  saw  him,  and  was  in  converse  with  him,  and  I  came 
to  know  something  of  the  deeper  inspirations  and  treasures 
of  his  life.  To  the  world  at  large  our  lives  here  are  lives 
of  official  routine.  But  to  ourselves,  as  the  days  go  by, 
bringing  us  closer  together,  familiarizing  us  with  each 
other's  faces,  with  the  grasp  of  each  other's  hands,  and 
with  the  sound  of  each  other's  voices,  suddenly  it  comes 
that  we  are  no  longer  perfunctory  associates,  but  friends 
and  companions.  There  is  in  each,  indeed,  the  conven- 
tional discharge  of  his  duty,  but  beneath  that  and  far 
more  impressive  on  our  consciousness  is  the  recognition  of 
qualities  that  mark  not  so  much  the  statesman  as  the 
man.  Out  of  the  unrelieved  mass  of  the  representative 
population  which  we  face  when  we  enter  here,  there  stead- 
ily emerges  on  us  in  clearer  outline,  each  day  we  stay, 
traits  of  individual  character,  personalities  of  individual 


28  SENATOR  PIKE. 

men,  the  opening  of  the  treasures  of  the  individual  human 
heart,  and  the  expression  of  those  affections,  tastes,  ambi- 
tions, devotions,  purposes,  or  ideals  which  make  each  one 
of  us  a  distinct  individuality,  yet  subtly  intimate  with 
every  other.  And  when  one  goes  from  us,  say  what  you 
will,  recite  never  so  eloquently  the  story  of  his  public 
achievement,  the  one  sincere  chord  that  thrills  in  the 
breasts  of  those  who  remain  is  that  of  the  regard  he  had 
won  in  their  hearts.  And  the  measure  of  that  regard  is 
the  measure  of  response  to  his  memory. 

In  this  respect  I  recall  Senator  Pike  with  a  reverent 
tenderness  I  cannot  express.  From  the  time  we  both  en- 
tered the  Forty-eighth  Congress  I  recall  meeting,  almost 
daily  each  session,  a  sweet,  grave,  benignant  face,  more  like 
the  picture  of  Rufus  Choate  —  a  graduate  of  the  same 
Granite  State,  prolific  of  great  men  —  than  any  other 
that  occurs  to  me.  I  recall  a  gentle,  almost  pathetic, 
smile,  significant  of  the  sweet  and  gentle  spirit  from 
which  it  sprang,  —  a  man  ripe  in  years,  delicate  in  health, 
yet  suggestive  of  something  of  a  certain  rugged  New  Eng- 
land plainness,  intent  on  duty,  going  about  his  work  in 
the  simplest  and  most  exemplary  way,  and  absolutely  free 
from  all  entanglements  of  selfish  strategic  manoeuvre. 
He  had  not  been  long  enough  in  the  Senate  to  take,  if 
ever  he  would  have  taken,  foremost  part  in  its  greater 
questions  and  debates.  But  there  was  the  most  diligent, 
painstaking,  careful,  and  thorough  attention  to  the  details 
of  the  cumulative  work  which  the  chairmanship  of  his 
laborious  committee  threw  upon  him.  To  this  work  he 
brought  not  only  patience  and  assiduity,  but  a  sound  judg- 
ment, an  intelligent  comprehension,  and  the  trained  mind 
of  a  good  lawyer  and  a  wise  man.  Of  such  a  character  it 
may  seem  a  little  thing  in  the  way  of  eulogy,  but  to  me 


SENATOR  PIKE.  29 

who  was  near  him  it  is  a  very  grateful  thing  to  recall  the 
simple  genuineness  of  the  man's  nature,  — even  the  kind 
tones  of  his  voice,  his  encouraging  interest  in  younger 
men,  and  the  gracious  words  to  children,  which,  together 
with  a  certain  benignity  in  his  face,  drew  them  to  him. 
It  is  a  grateful  thing  to  remember  that  among  all  who 
came  into  companionship  with  him  there  was  an  unspoken 
but  unquestioned  recognition  of  him  as  a  true,  honest,  good 
man,  with  all  that  those  fundamental  terms  mean  ;  that  to 
all  who  came  to  him  in  his  official  relation,  no  matter 
how  humble  the  applicant  or  small  the  petition,  there 
was  a  genuine  response ;  and  that  if  one  may  touch  the 
sacred  altar  of  the  domestic  circle,  he  was  its  very  bene- 
diction. By  reason  of  an  affection  of  the  heart  his  life 
was  continually  trembling  in  the  most  sensitive  balance. 
And  if  I  dwell  on  these  personal  traits,  it  is  because  he 
seemed  to  me  to  be  conscious  all  this  time  that  the  angel 
of  death  walked  at  his  side,  ready  at  any  moment  to  take 
his  hand  and  lead  him  away ;  and  that  with  that  conscious- 
ness there  came  to  him  not  only  the  brave  spirit  of  resig- 
nation, but  the  braver  spirit  of  doing  his  duty  to  the  last, 
to  the  last  letting  only  sunshine  radiate  from  his  face,  only 
helpfulness  from  his  hand.  When  our  friends  die,  we 
say  God  rest  their  souls.  But  God  rested  his  while  he 
yet  lived  in  the  very  face  of  death.  No  soldier  ever  faced 
it  in  the  sudden  and  soon-over  flash  of  battle  more  hero- 
ically than  did  he,  with  a  serenity  that  was  proof  against 
its  more  appalling,  because  constant  and  silent,  close  im- 
pendence. 

It  was  the  fitness  of  poetic  justice,  that  not  here  in 
Washington,  but  in  his  own  New  Hampshire  home,  death 
claimed  him  —  amid  the  incomparable  beauty  and  glory 
of  the  New  Hampshire  autumn  sunshine  —  in  the  open 


30  SENATOR  PIKE. 

air  of  that  paradise  of  mountain  and  forest  and  lake  and 
farm  and  field  to  whicli  every  New  Hampshire  heart  is 
loyal,  and  on  the  acres  won  and  cultivated  by  his  own 
hand.  There,  as  peacefully  as  his  own  blameless  life  had 
run,  as  serenely  as  his  kind  face  beamed,  came  the  end. 
The  angel,  who  is  even  tenderer  and  gentler  than  her 
sister  Sleep,  had  indeed  walked  at  his  side  so  long  that  he 
recognized  her  as  the  blessed  angel  of  man's  succor  and 
peace.  She  had  waited  till  their  walk  that  bright  day, 
over  the  pleasant  fields  and  under  the  blue  sky,  gave  the 
opportunity  happiest  for  her  and  for  him.  Then  she 
gathered  her  arms  about  him.  His  head  fell  upon  her 
shoulder  even  as  he  went.  And  lo !  he  was  at  rest  in  the 
mansions  of  his  Father's  house. 


ADDRESS 

Before  the  American  Unitarian  Association  in  Music  Hall, 
Boston,  May  29,  1877. 

I  LIKE  this  idea  of  missionary  work  right  here  at  home, 
and  I  care  very  little  under  what  banner  it  proceeds.  I 
am  not  much  afraid  of  what  our  various  sects  denominate, 
in  everybody  except  themselves,  false  doctrine,  if  only  it 
be  honestly  entertained,  and  if  there  is  candor  enough  to 
reject  it  when  its  falsity  is  made  apparent.  It  will  be 
time  for  any  of  us  to  call  another's  doctrine  false  when  we 
can  ourselves  with  any  confidence  assert  that  our  own  is 
true.  False  and  true  are  relative  terms,  and  I  shall  pro- 
bably know  very  little  about  the  false  till  I  have  arrived 
at  the  absolutely  true.  Let  us  remember  that  the  false 
is  often  a  lame  step  towards  the  true.  A  grand  thing, 
indeed,  it  would  be,  in  a  catholic  and  hopeful  spirit,  to 
regard  all  reaching  of  the  human  intelligence  and  soul 
as  a  growth  along  the  whole  line  towards  the  truth.  Let 
us  not  despise  or  dread  honest  and  inquiring  error.  How 
have  the  sciences  of  medicine  and  astronomy,  how  have 
the  progresses  of  social  life,  the  causes  of  education,  of 
health,  of  legislation,  been  advanced  except  by  deduc- 
tion from  error  and  the  hard  discipline  of  blunder ! 

I  preface  this  because  I  regard  our  mission  as  only  a 
mission,  not  an  end ;  as  a  very  humble,  but  intelligent 
and  fearless  means,  which  in  God's  providence  is  doing 
God's  work  and  seeking  God's  truth,  along  with  other 
means,  some  better  perhaps,  some  certainly  not  so  good, 


32  UNITARIAN  WORK. 

and  all  poor  compared  with  future  possibilities  o£  Chris- 
tianity. It  is  a  mission  fit  here  and  now,  because  the 
mission  of  our  liberal  faith  has  always  been  not  so  much 
to  the  ignorance  of  remote  heathen  as  to  intelligence  and 
common  sense  and  spiritual  attainment  like  those  of  this 
rare  and  excellent  New  England  community.  It  has  been 
a  twofold  mission,  and  I  am  not  sure  that  in  one  of  its 
two  directions  its  work,  as  a  distinctive  work  of  its  own, 
is  not  approaching  completion.  For  a  century,  more  or 
less,  it  has  been  a  very  ploughshare  in  the  hard  and  bitter 
soil  of  a  severe  theology,  which  hid  the  smiles  of  a  tender 
Father  always  behind  the  frown  of  an  offended  and 
averted  Deity,  which  robbed  human  nature  of  its  worth 
and  dignity,  and  which  substituted  the  skeleton  of  a  tech- 
nical and  complicated  scheme  of  injustice  for  the  warm 
life  of  the  domesticity  of  man  with  God.  On  all  this  it 
has  let  in  sunlight  and  gladness  and  cheer.  It  has  mel- 
lowed even  the  shadow  of  death  with  the  tints  of  a  golden 
sunset  of  promise.  It  has  left  its  imprint  not  more  in  its 
own  ranks  than  in  ranks  outside  its  own.  Its  results  are 
hardly  more  Channing  and  Hale  and  Clarke  than  Brooks 
and  Stanley.  Its  influence  is  not  more  patent  in  the  fruit- 
ful graft  of  the  Methodist  Collyer  than  in  the  earnest 
work  of  the  revivalist  Moody,  who  seems  almost  of  an- 
other faith  than  that  of  the  revivalists  of  fifty  years  ago. 
I  want  no  more  generous  and  comfortable  atmosphere 
than  pervades  the  churches  of  so  many  of  our  neighbors, 
who  differ  from  us  to-day  less  in  spirit  than  in  name,  and 
from  whose  number  our  own  ministry  is  now  and  then 
supplied  with  many  of  its  shining  lights. 

It  has  been  a  good  work,  —  that  of  our  liberal  faith  in 
this  direction  ;  and,  may  be,  in  this  direction,  its  most 
effective  labor  is  done.     It  is  not  for  us  to  say  that  the 


UNITARIAN  WORK.  38 

time  is  not  near  when  it  will  itself  no  longer  guide  the 
advance,  but  in  its  turn  follow  some  brighter  torch,  some 
more  incisive  lead.  Be  that  as  it  may,  the  other  element 
of  its  mission  it  can  never  exhaust.  Its  crusade  against 
narrowness  of  dogma  over,  the  better  and  endless  work  of 
being  a  live,  vitalizing,  inspiring,  practical,  constant,  per- 
meating spring  and  flow  of  Christian  character  and  love 
and  faith  in  the  world  should  absorb  its  endeavors.  Sci- 
ence, scholarship,  brains,  wiU  take  care  of  the  letter  and  the 
doctrine ;  let  us  have  now  the  full  measure  of  the  spirit 
and  the  life.  Let  us  preach  the  sweetness  of  faith  and 
duty,  more  of  the  soul  of  Jesus,  more  of  the  spiritual 
exaltation  that  lifts  the  conduct,  the  thought,  the  hope, 
the  act.  Would  there  were  more  divinity  schools  turning 
out  classes  of  young  men  all  richly  and  mainly  educated 
in  spiritual  grace,  as  our  academies  turn  out  boys  drilled 
in  Latin  exercises !  Would  that  our  churches  might  glow 
more  with  the  warmth  of  religious  kindling,  echoing  less 
with  the  puzzles  of  the  modern  schoolmen  !  Would  that 
the  hearts  of  men  and  women  might  be  touched,  their  lives 
guided,  so  that  Christian  civilization  should  be  not  the 
husk  of  a  euphuism,  but  the  full  corn  in  the  ear  of  Chris- 
tian living ;  and  that  we  could  feel  assured  that  our  faith 
were  indeed  making  us  better  and  holier ;  moulding  our 
relations ;  guiding  our  walk ;  entering  into  our  business, 
and  even  our  politics  ;  directing  our  education  ;  reforming 
our  reforms ;  enlightening  our  treatment  of  the  criminal ; 
attacking  our  intemperance ;  sanctifying  and  spiritual- 
izing our  ambitions ;  making  our  religion  not  a  form,  a 
habit,  a  convenience,  but  something  bountiful  and  large 
and  immanent ;  making  our  churches  places  of  worship, 
and  training  us,  through  Christ's  sweet  example,  into 
loving,  trusting,  obedient,  and  pious  children  of  God,  — 


34  UNITARIAN  WORK. 

blessed  because  gentle  in  spirit ;  meek ;  hungering  and 
thirsting  after  righteousness ;  merciful ;  pure  in  heart ; 
peacemakers ;  and  persecuted,  if  at  all,  for  righteousness' 
sake  !  From  my  soul  I  believe  we  have  nothing  so  good 
as  the  gospel  of  Jesus.  Our  church,  having  dissipated 
shadow  and  gloom,  must  not  and  will  not  fall  short  of  the 
substance.  That  substance  is  that  gospel,  —  the  life,  his- 
tory, words,  character,  example,  faith,  and,  more  than  aU, 
the  principles  of  Jesus,  which  all  appeal  to  the  heart  of 
humanity,  as  no  abstraction  can;  and  by  clinging  to 
which,  and  dwelling  on  which,  and  preaching  which,  and 
endearing  which,  other  churches  reach  men  as  sometimes 
we  do  not.  Let  us,  too,  throw  out  one  more  anchor  in 
this  same  deep  and  restful  haven.  Not  an  iota  less  of 
intelligence  and  reason  and  truth,  but  a  worldfull  and  a 
heartfull  of  the  spirit  of  him  who  through  his  own  has 
linked  our  souls  so  palpably  to  the  divine  soul,  that  the 
avenue  to  the  Father's  love  and  benediction  seems  to  lie 
straight  through  the  tender  heart  of  the  Son. 


KESPONSE 

For  the  Commonwealth  at  the  Dinner  of  the  Ancient  and 
Honorable  Artillery  Company,  at  Faneuil  Hall,  June  5, 
1882. 

I  DO  not  forget,  Mr.  Commander  and  gentlemen,  that  I 
am  here  to-day  not  only  as  a  civil  magistrate,  —  an  office 
which,  of  course,  any  of  you  might  have,  could  you  spare 
the  time,  —  but  also  as  an  honorary  member  of  this  ancient 
and  honorable  company,  —  a  position  which  I  share  with 
Wales,  and  with  Wales  only.  By  Wales  it  is  unnecessary 
to  say  that  I  refer,  not  to  our  gallant  new  brigadier  and 
commissioner  of  police,  but  a  gentleman  across  the  water, 
who,  while  I,  more  fortunate,  feast  at  this  sumptuous  board, 
is  obliged  to  content  himseK,  for  the  present,  with  an  Irish 
stew.  Bearing  this  relation  to  you,  no  word  shall  escape 
my  lips  that  lightly  speaks  of  your  fame,  your  bearing,  or 
your  merits  as  a  military  organization.  From  the  top  of 
the  New  England  pyramid,  almost  two  centuries  and  a 
half  look  down  on  you  to-day,  and  do  you  honor.  A 
saucy  press  may  point  its  inky  finger ;  the  citizen  who 
never  buckled  a  sword  to  his  side,  except  in  time  of  war, 
may  wag  his  head ;  but,  while  thrones  and  custom-house 
officials  totter,  while  men  may  come  and  men  may  go, 
the  Ancient  and  Honorable  Artillery  Company  flows  on 
forever;  and  its  morning  drum-beat,  following  the  fife, 
and  keeping  company  with  your  graceful  step,  circles,  if 
not  the  earth,  at  least  its  hub,  with  one  continuous  and 
unbroken  strain  of  the  martial  airs  of  Yankee  Massachu- 
setts.    As  we  marched  hither,  and  I  looked  into  the  upper 


36  THE  ANCIENTS. 

windows  of  the  buildings  that  line  the  way,  I  could  not 
forget  that  the  tired  sewing-girl  ceased  singing  the  "  Song 
of  the  Shirt,"  that  the  laboring  man  wiped  the  sweat  from 
his  honest  brow,  that  the  organ-grinder  stopped  his  tune, 
that  the  newsboy  stood  motionless,  as  they  watched  your 
march,  —  perhaps  their  only  amusement  for  the  whole 
year. 

Age  cannot  wither  your  appetites,  nor  custom  stale 
your  infinite  variety.  The  years  have  fallen  from  you 
like  the  sunbeams  from  the  helmet  of  Hector.  Still  the 
same  defiant  march  that  neither  storm  nor  tempest,  nor 
discipline  by  land  or  sea,  nor  anything  but  actual  service 
can  retard.  Still  the  same  artistically  irregular  step  and 
wheel.  Still  the  same  familiar  handling  of  musket  and 
sword  so  characteristic  of  men  who  carry  them  only  once 
a  year,  as  you  have  carried  them  for  two  hundred  and 
forty-four  years,  yet  never  have  shed  a  drop  of  blood,  never 
terrified  wife  or  child,  —  except  your  own.  Still  the  same 
picturesque  variety  of  uniform  which  finds  itself  rivaled 
nowhere  else  except  upon  the  stage  of  the  opera.  And 
yet,  if  you  will  allow  me  to  say  so,  I  trust  the  time  will 
never  come  when  the  Ancient  and  Honorable  Artillery 
Company  will  wear  an  unbroken  uniform.  All  pleasantry 
aside,  there  is  not  a  citizen  that  sees  you  marching  through 
the  streets  who  does  not  see  in  the  variety  of  your  uni- 
forms the  representation  of  our  martial  organizations  which 
went  through  the  flame  and  smoke  of  war,  or  who  does 
not  recognize  that  beneath  them  beat  hearts  which  twenty 
years  ago  were,  and  which  twenty  years  hence,  should 
we  need  them,  will  still  be  ready  to  fight  for  the  honor 
of  Massachusetts.  You  have  also  shown  every  faithful 
citizen  of  the  Commonwealth  that,  while  too  busy  to  serve 
in  the  narrow  confines  of  the  jury-box,  he  may  serve  her 
in  another  field  better  for  himself  and  possibly  for  her. 


THE  ANCIENTS.  37 

You  have  inaugurated  a  system  of  civil  service  which 
reforms  even  the  young  reformers,  putting  promotion  not 
upon  the  rock  of  political  influence,  not  upon  the  acoiSeot 
of  merit,  but  as  your  later  commanders  unanimously 
tell  us,  upon  the  proud  distinction  of  personal  beauty. 

When  this  morning,  in  your  line  of  march,  you  saluted 
the  venerable  State  House,  you  saluted  an  edifice  a  century 
and  a  half  younger  than  yourselves.  Your  very  years, 
while  they  compel  you  to  put  the  example  of  good  conduct 
before  your  fellow  citizens,  entitle  you  also  to  their  honor 
and  respect.  Even  in  the  time  of  my  enlistment  in  the 
executive  service,  how  much  I  can  recall  connected  with 
your  glory.  Year  after  year  the  soft  heart  of  June,  with 
more  than  Raleigh's  chivalrous  courtesy,  has  thrown  her 
mantle  of  sunshine  under  your  feet,  although  to-day,  weep- 
ing for  very  joy,  she  bedewed  it  later  with  her  laughing 
tears.  There  has  at  times  been  a  little  mud  in  the  streets, 
—  not  too  much,  but  just  enough,  —  to  prove  the  steadi- 
ness of  your  foothold.  Horton,  Hale,  Collyer,  Bolles  — 
priests  of  lofty  faith  and>  inspiring  eloquence  —  have 
taught  you,  from  the  sacred  desk  of  ancient  Hollis,  your 
obligations  to  your  fellow  men  and  your  duty  to  God. 
From  this  platform  you  have  heard  the  rarely  graceful 
declamation  of  Governor  Rice,  and  the  scholarly  periods 
of  Mayor  Prince.  Here  to-day  you  see  again  that  vener- 
able comrade  of  your  own,  Marshall  P.  Wilder,  twice  your 
Commander,  whose  head  and  heart  are  crowned  with  the 
golden  harvest  of  more  than  fourscore  yeai-s.  And,  in 
my  time,  what  a  succession  of  commanders  —  gallantly 
representing  the  citizen  soldier  —  have  you  not  had  in  the 
conmaanding  presences  of  General  Martin,  Colonel  Wilder, 
Major  Stevens,  and  Captain  Cundy.  You  may  encase,  to 
be  opened  one  hundred  years  hence,  the  cold  letter  which 
■writes  the  civilization  and  the  institutions  of  our  time; 


38  THE  ANCIENTS. 

but  you  cannot  send  down  to  posterity  those  currents  of 
the  blood,  that  speaking  of  the  face,  those  generous  sym- 
pathies of  the  heart,  that  common  enthusiasm  for  the 
bettering  of  the  world,  which  characterize  the  men,  whom 
in  the  various  departments  of  life  you,  to  an  extent,  repre- 
sent, and  who  to-day  make  Boston,  of  course,  the  centre 
of  the  universe,  and  Massachusetts  the  paradise  of  com- 
monwealths. If  she  be,  as  your  toast  says,  "  foremost 
among  the  sisterhood  of  States,"  it  is  not  because  of  the 
fertility  of  her  soil  or  the  felicity  of  her  situation.  It  is, 
as  the  eloquent  preacher  said  this  morning,  because  of  the 
manhood  of  her  citizens,  the  freedom  of  her  thought,  the 
liberality  of  her  institutions,  the  high  standard  of  her 
character,  education,  and  public  sentiment,  and  the  equal- 
ity of  the  rights  of  her  people.  There  never  was  so  glori- 
ous a  democracy  before.  I  join  in  your  prayer :  "  Long 
may  her  ascendency  continue  unimpaired."  Not  an  as- 
cendency of  wealth  or  power  for  its  own  sake ;  not  an 
ascendency  of  pride  or  presumption ;  but  an  ascendency 
of  the  civilization  and  happiness  of  all  her  people ;  an 
ascendency  of  good  government,  and  of  the  wholesome 
social  life  of  a  self-respecting  and  self-supporting  citizen- 
ship ;  an  ascendency  of  pure  homes  and  of  honest  in- 
dustry, graced  and  enlarged  with  the  refinements  of  litera- 
ture, the  charms  of  eloquence,  the  songs  of  poets,  the 
preaching  of  wholesome  doctrine,  and  the  progress  of 
science.  At  the  suggestion  of  such  a  range,  what  names 
spring  to  the  mind  !  Names  not  of  the  dead,  but  of  those 
immortal  ones  who  live  forever  in  the  thrilling  heart-beats 
of  Massachusetts.  May  this  ancient  and  honorable  com- 
pany, for  many  years  to  come,  minister  and  contribute  to 
the  same  lofty  standard  —  to  the  ideal  soldier's  fine  sense 
of  honor  —  to  the  true  citizen's  high  sense  of  duty ! 


WELCOME 

To  THE   American  Association   for   the    Advancement    op 
Science,  at  the  Institute  of  Technology,  August  25, 1880. 

In  behalf  of  the  Commonwealth  of  Massachusetts,  I  am 
happy  to  extend  cordial  welcome  to  the  American  Asso- 
ciation for  the  Advancement  of  Science.  It  was  organ- 
ized thirty-three  years  ago,  in  this  her  capital  city,  and  it 
holds  the  charter  of  its  corporate  life  under  the  act  of 
her  legislature.  It  has  enrolled  upon  its  membership  the 
names  of  sons  of  hers  who,  by  their  contributions  to  the 
store  of  useful  knowledge,  have  paid  her  the  best  return 
for  the  education  she  gave  them.  Among  its  presidents 
it  reckons  names  precious  in  her  estimation  and  memory, 
—  the  names  of  Agassiz,  Peirce,  Gould,  and  Gray.  Mas- 
sachusetts regards  the  true  advancement  of  science  with 
no  jealous  or  distrustful  eye,  but  rather  as  a  synonym  for 
the  greater  happiness  of  the  people,  the  better  mastery  of 
nature,  the  foundation  of  a  surer  faith  in  God  the  Crea- 
tor, the  nearer  equality  of  a  democratic  state.  She  re- 
joices in  its  achievements,  not  only  when  she  welcomes 
from  all  the  states  of  the  Union  such  an  illustrious  ga- 
thering of  scientific  men  as  are  here  to-day  in  its  interest ; 
but  also  when  she  hears  the  ring  of  its  hammer,  the  click 
of  its  chisel  in  the  hands  of  her  own  artisans  and  me- 
chanics, who  in  the  varied  useful  and  homely  industries 
of  civilization,  in  her  machine-shops,  at  the  wheels  of  her 
railroad  cars,  in  her  manufactories,  are  dignifying  and 
elevating  the  lot  of  labor  and  the  craft  of  handiwork,  and 


40  SCIENCE. 

at  the  same  time  contributing  to  the  enlargement  of  the 
comforts,  the  opportunities,  the  usefulness  of  human  life, 
and  the  common  weal  of  her  citizens.  For  science  has 
no  favorites  in  the  beneficence  of  its  results.  It  discloses 
no  secret  that  is  not  echoed  around  the  globe.  If  it  elec- 
trify the  wire  with  messages  of  joy  or  of  appeal,  it  is  for 
the  ear  of  the  humblest  laborer  as  well  as  for  that  of  a 
king.  If  Bigelow  invent  or  perfect  his  loom,  it  is  that 
the  floor  of  the  farmer's  cottage  may  be  carpeted  as  softly 
to  the  farmer's  foot,  and  as  tastefuUy  to  his  eye,  as  if  he 
were  a  merchant  prince.  Whether  it  be  the  inventions 
that  have  developed  the  exhaustless  power  of  steam ;  that 
have  made  the  lightning  a  handmaiden  ;  that  have  ren- 
dered warmth  and  light  cheap  and  common  comforts  for 
all  alike ;  that  have  bettered  our  food  ;  that  have  provided 
transportation  with  marvelous  economy  and  speed,  or  that 
have  enabled  the  remotest  provincial  to  be  a  cosmopolite, 
and  have  laid  the  world  under  contribution  to  the  Ameri- 
can citizen,  high  or  low,  rich  or  poor,  science  has  taken 
no  exclusive  as  well  as  no  backward  step.  Her  march  is 
like  that  of  the  sun.  Eternal  dawn  and  brightening  go 
before  her.  The  darkness  flies,  the  shadows  disappear, 
and  her  blessing  falls  on  all  the  world  alike.  It  is  in  this 
spirit  that  Massachusetts  welcomes  you  who  make  science 
your  mistress,  and  who  minister  to  her  advancement.  If 
there  be  within  our  commonwealth  populous  and  busy 
cities  and  towns,  alive  with  thrift  and  industry,  singing 
the  song  of  the  wheel,  the  hammer,  and  the  loom,  and 
sweet  with  homes ;  if  there  be  institutions  of  learning ;  if 
there  be  provision  broadcast  for  the  education  and  eleva- 
tion of  all  her  children,  independent  of  race  or  color  or 
condition,  it  is  because  the  advancement  of  science  has 
made  all  this  possible   and  easy.     From   Franklin  and 


1r 


SCIENCE.  41 

Rumford  to  Morse  and  Bell,  Massachusetts  lias  welcomed 
and  fostered  every  new  addition  to  scientific  enterprise 
and  achievement.  And  yet  she  pays  you  the  highest  com- 
pliment by  asking  for  yet  more.  Her  farms,  her  facto- 
ries, her  homes,  all  clamor  for  still  swifter  means  of 
development  and  product  and  comfort.  If  she  points 
with  pride  to  her  great  names  in  the  realm  of  scientific 
research  and  progress,  she  also  points  to  them  still  more 
impressively  as  examples  of  what  yet  greater  things  this 
generation  may  do  for  the  advancement  of  science  and 
the  bettering  of  human  life. 


ADDRESS 

At  the  Laying  of  the  Corner-Stone  of  the  Massachusetts 
Charitable  Mechanics'  Association  Building  on  Hunting- 
ton Avenue,  Boston,  March  15, 1881. 

I  BRING  with  pleasure  to  this  occasion  the  good  wishes 
of  the  Commonwealth.  Your  society  bears  her  name. 
It  was  incorporated  by  her  enactment.  It  is  but  a  little 
younger  than  herself.  Among  its  members  and  orators  it 
numbers  many  of  her  magistrates  and  chosen  ones.  I 
cannot  help  referring  to  one  of  them,  whose  name  I  bear 
and  of  whose  kin  I  am,  —  Governor  John  Davis,  —  as  also 
to  Hon.  Marshall  P.  Wilder,  triple  promoter  of  agricul- 
ture, commerce,  and  mechanics,  who  is  fortunately  spared 
to  grace  this  platform  with  his  venerable  and  noble  pre- 
sence. Not  only  does  your  society  bear  the  name  of  the 
Commonwealth,  but  it  associates  with  her  name  those 
other  titles  which  mark  the  culmination  of  modern  civili- 
zation and  suggest  the  crowning  glories  of  her  own  pro- 
gress, the  dignity  and  beneficence  of  mechanical  skill  and 
labor,  the  blessedness  of  charity,  the  equality,  the  help- 
fulness, the  magnificent  power  of  association.  It  is,  in- 
deed, a  significant  name  —  the  Massachusetts  Charitable 
Mechanics'  Association.  While  not  alone,  indeed,  of  your 
society,  yet  of  it  with  rare  fitness  it  may  be  said  that  its 
history  and  its  work  are  typical  of  the  history  and  the 
work  of  the  Commonwealth  herself.  Like  all  her  inter- 
ests, it  has  grown  beyond  its  own  limits  and  lifted  every 
other  department  of  industry  and  education  along  with 


CHARITABLE  MECHANICS.  43 

itself.  Like  her  it  has  grown  in  purse,  in  power,  in  scope. 
Like  her  it  has,  in  the  very  unfolding  of  its  own  good 
purposes,  risen  above  consiaerations  of  profit,  of 'benefit 
to  an  exclusive  class  and  to  limited  interests,  and  has 
aimed  at  the  welfare  of  a  state,  at  the  diffusion  of  that 
practical  scientific  knowledge  and  mechanical  appliance 
which  make  the  homes  of  a  whole  people  happier  and 
brighter,  and  especially  at  the  development  of  manhood 
and  character  throughout  aU  the  ranks  of  industrial  labor. 

I  know  no  words  that  fitly  speak  the  debt  which  Mas- 
sachusetts owes  to  the  voluntary  contributions  and  efforts 
of  her  children  in  these  numberless  lines  of  good  works, 
—  of  charity,  religion,  enterprise,  and  of  associated  capi- 
tal, and  skill,  and  labor,  and  sentiment  even,  which,  more 
than  her  magistrates,  her  laws,  and  her  police,  constitute 
the  government  of  her  people,  and  are  her  security  and 
impulse.  Touch  such  a  society  anywhere  in  its  ordinary 
work  and  meetings,  or  at  its  splendid  exhibitions,  and  lo ! 
it  is  only  the  Massachusetts  idea  —  the  school,  the  church, 
the  militia,  the  town  -  meeting  —  education  ;  the  higher 
life ;  the  weak  protected  by  the  strong ;  equal  rights  ! 

Even  such,  to-day,  in  laying  the  corner-stone  of  your 
new  and  magnificent  exposition  building,  are  still  the 
breadth  and  generosity  of  your  outlook.  How  marvelous 
it  is  !  Was  it  a  dream  or  some  fairy  tale,  —  the  massing 
of  the  clouds,  as  we  have  seen  them  at  sunset,  —  the  solid 
land  rising  from  the  sea,  and  graceful  towers  and  palaces 
of  gold  and  precious  stones  taking  shape  and  shining  afar, 
brilliant  as  the  gorgeous  hangings  of  the  sun  at  close  of 
day,  and,  alas !  vanishing  as  quickly  ?  But  no  dream  or 
fairy  tale  is  here.  After  years  of  homely,  honest  toil  and 
saving,  the  sea  has  indeed  been  filled  up,  and  where  the 
tide  once  ebbed  and  flowed  is  now  the  solid  land,  bearing 


44  CHARITABLE  MECHANICS. 

on  its  ample  back  the  homes,  the  shops,  the  schoolhouses, 
the  churches  of  a  great  city.  To  these  you  add  your  own 
splendid  and  spacious  temple.  If  it  were  for  you,  if  it 
were  for  your  association,  even  if  it  were  for  the  great 
industries  you  represent,  and  for  these  alone,  it  were 
hardly  worth  while  that  you  should  honor  the  laying  of 
its  foundations.  But  it  is  for  the  commonwealth,  which 
means  for  all  the  world,  for  the  bettering  of  all  human 
conditions,  for  the  enlargement  of  all  human  enjoyment 
and  knowledge.  Eloquence  will  lend  a  silver  echo,  and 
music  its  sweeter  tones  to  its  walls.  Art  will  hang  them 
with  pictures.  Great  engines  will  lift  their  giant  arms  to 
its  roof  in  mute  and  absolute  obedience  to  man's  mastery 
of  force,  and  so  teach  the  might  and  immortality  of  mind. 
Great  themes  of  state  will  gather  within  its  doors  the  con- 
course of  the  people.  Schools  of  design  wiU  adorn  it 
with  their  tracings  and  figures.  Its  exhibitions  will  illus- 
trate the  limitless  ingenuity  of  human  skill,  and  the  lim- 
itless invention  of  human  thought.  It  wiU  teach,  it  will 
refine,  it  will  inspire,  it  wiU  associate,  it  will  tie  closer  the 
common  bonds  of  human  sympathy,  dependence,  and  pro- 
gress. And  year  by  year  its  record  will  show  that  through 
the  development  of  industrial  mechanics,  based  on  asso- 
ciated action  and  directed  in  the  spirit  of  the  largest  char- 
ity, all  men  alike,  whatever  their  fortune  or  circumstances, 
are  getting  more  and  more  of  the  good  things  of  this 
world,  —  alike  the  finer  and  more  comfortable  raiment, 
alike  the  better  food,  alike  the  newspaper  and  the  book, 
alike  the  luscious  fruit  of  foreign  zones,  alike  the  blessed- 
ness of  light  by  night  and  heat  by  day,  alike  the  opportu- 
nity and  power  to  grow,  alike  the  alleviations  and  labor- 
saving  helps  of  science ;  alike  for  all,  the  comforts  and 
betterments  of  a  larger  and  nobler  life  I 


CHARITABLE   MECHANICS.  46 

So  may  it  be  till  civilization  shall  reach  that  degree  of 
perfection  at  which,  with  every  hand  and  brain  usefully 
employed,  with  the  spirit  of  mutual  helpfulness  every- 
where abroad,  and  with  aU  forces  combined  for  the  com- 
mon good,  the  whole  commonwealth  shall  be  only  one 
great  Massachusetts  Charitable  Mechanic  Association. 
Erect  your  building  in  that  spirit,  and  dedicate  it  to  the 
Infinite  Mind,  from  whom  cometh  that  inspiration  that 
makes  man  thus  master  of  his  necessities  by  making  him 
the  master  of  the  world,  and  you  will  have  set  up  in 
this  city,  amid  these  sacred  spires  that  mark  the  houses 
of  God,  yet  another  temple  to  His  praise  grander  in  its 
simplicity  of  usefulness  than  Greek  or  Gothic  !  And  upon 
its  altars  shall  be  offered  up  to  Him,  not  the  smoking  sac- 
rifice of  the  blood  of  bullock  or  goat,  but  the  intelligent 
industries,  the  touching  suggestions  of  home,  the  benefi- 
cent helps,  the  myriad  evidences  of  the  unbounded  pro- 
gress and  charity  of  His  children. 


ADDKESS 

At  the  Opening  of  the  New  England  Manufacturers'  and 
Mechanics'  Institute  Fair,  Boston,  August  18, 1881. 

The  comprehensive  speech  that  befits  the  inauguration 
of  this  interesting  exhibition  of  the  manufacturing  and 
mechanical  industries  of  New  England,  will  be  spoken  by 
other  and  more  eloquent  lips  than  my  own.  Mine  is 
rather  the  formal  duty,  in  the  name  of  the  Commonwealth 
which  I  represent,  and  in  whose  capital  city  this  exhibi- 
tion is  now  to  be  held,  to  proclaim  its  opening,  to  thank 
the  public-spirited  men  who  have  promoted  it  so  gener- 
ously, and  to  welcome  to  it  the  distinguished  Governors  of 
the  other  New  England  States;  the  various  guests  who 
have  been  bidden  to  this  feast  of  labor ;  the  representative 
merchants,  manufacturers,  and  mechanics,  whose  interests 
centre  here ;  the  industrial  classes,  the  product  of  whose 
skill  makes  this  great  hall  richer  than  a  palace  of  the 
Montezumas  though  groaning  under  heaps  of  gold ;  and, 
in  fine,  the  whole  body  of  the  people,  whose  civilization, 
whose  wealth,  whose  happiness,  and  whose  homes  are  all 
typed  in  this  magnificent  display  of  utility  and  beauty. 
Yet,  wonderful  as  are  its  extensiveness  and  variety  to  the 
eye  —  suggestive  as  it  is  of  material  wealth ;  of  the  hum 
of  countless  spindles  ;  of  the  rush  of  hundreds  of  moun- 
tain streams ;  of  the  mute,  resistless  force  of  a  thousand 
giants  of  steamy  vapor  more  marvelous  than  those  of 
the  Arabian  tale  ;  of  the  freighting  by  land  and  sea  of 
myriad  cargoes  of  raw  material;  and  also  of  clustering 


MANUFACTURES.  47 

villages  of  factories  and  shops,  in  which  that  material  is 
fashioned  into  food  or  clothing  or  shelter  or  decoration, 
and  through  which  the  great  wealth  of  wages  is  distributed 
into  home  and  church  and  school  and  into  the  interests 
and  relaxations  of  common  social  life  —  suggestive  as  it  is 
of  all  this  material  activity,  it  suggests  yet  far  more  the 
spirit  that  animates  it  all,  the  eternal  spring  of  human 
genius  that  thus  expands  outward  and  upward  to  master 
the  very  globe,  and  the  immortality  of  the  growth  of 
mind. 

Two  hundred  and  thirty-eight  years  ago  the  colonies  of 
New  England  met  in  this  Boston  town  to  form  a  union  for 
defense  and  common  protection.  Here  to-day  they  meet 
again,  in  the  persons  of  their  Governors  and  representa- 
tive men  of  business,  fearful  no  more  of  neighboring  or 
foreign  foe,  eager  not  to  avert  by  common  array  the 
perils  of  invading  war,  but  to  stimulate  by  common  enter- 
prise the  industries  and  arts  of  peace.  Fellow  citizens  of 
New  England,  those  are  our  Olympic  games.  Here  we 
rub  out,  if  any  vestige  of  it  indeed  be  left,  the  churlish- 
ness of  the  provincialism  of  boundary  lines.  Here  we 
learn  that  there  is  no  political  state,  except  the  common 
prosperity  and  happiness  of  all.  Here  we  cultivate  that 
patriotism  which  means  the  common  good.  Here  we  find 
that  our  interests  are  all  woven  into  one ;  and  that,  as 
commerce  thrives,  as  manufacture  plies  its  skillful  hand, 
as  labor  is  employed,  as  capital  casts  its  bread  upon  the 
waters  to  find  it  after  many  days,  so  year  by  year  with  ac- 
celerating swiftness  come  accumulating  upon  our  country, 
and  upon  all  it  bears  or  adopts,  a  finer  life,  new  resources 
for  body  and  mind,  a  literature  wider  spread,  the  works 
of  science  and  philosophy  in  the  shepherd's  hands,  the 
canal-boy's  dream  realized  in  a  throne  founded  upon  the 


48  MANUFACTURES. 

suffrages  and  in  the  hearts  of  a  free  people.  Yes,  these 
are  our  Olympic  games  ;  but  the  races  we  run  are  of  the 
head  and  not  of  the  feet ;  the  wrestling-matches  are  not 
of  human  sinews,  but  of  the  forces  of  nature  grappling, 
under  the  direction  of  human  skill,  with  the  fibres  of  the 
field,  with  the  inertia  of  ores,  with  wood  and  stone,  not  to 
fling  them  to  the  earth,  but  to  raise  and  train  them  into  a 
million  hand-servants  of  usefulness  and  luxury ;  and  the 
prize  is  not  a  fading  olive  wreath,  but  that  perfection  of 
blessings,  that  dream  of  all  other  lands  and  lots,  — a  New 
England  home. 

In  the  cause,  therefore,  of  a  common  advancing  material 
prosperity,  and  yet  even  more  in  the  cause  of  patriotism, 
of  education,  of  a  community  of  the  highest  interests,  and 
of  the  intellectual  and  moral  good  of  the  people,  I  wel- 
come you  all  to  this  New  England  Manufacturers'  and 
Mechanics'  Institute.  I  trust  it  will  inure  to  an  in- 
creased activity  and  development  of  our  manufacturing 
and  mechanical  interests ;  that  it  will  stimulate  enterprise, 
production,  and  the  investment  of  capital  here  at  home ; 
that  it  will  aid  to  preserve  and  also  to  increase  the  supre- 
macy of  New  England  in  the  field  of  skilled  labor  and  in- 
dustrial and  fine  art ;  and  that,  because  of  it,  our  water- 
courses will  turn  new  wheels ;  our  deserted  farms  bloom 
afresh ;  our  hillside  villages  spring  to  new  life ;  our  young 
men  and  women  look  not  abroad  for  employment;  the 
magnificent  industrial  capacities  of  Maine  and  New 
Hampshire  find  their  fulfillment ;  the  verdure  of  the  Ver- 
mont mountains  reflect  yet  richer  farms ;  the  industries  of 
Ehode  Island  and  Connecticut  advance  even  upon  their 
already  marvelous  thrift.  I  am  sure  it  will  tend  to  in- 
struct the  public  mind,  to  refine  the  public  taste,  to  lighten 
for  all  the  drudgery  of  toil,  to  encourage  the  decoration  of 


MANUFACTURES.  49 

homes,  and  to  mould  to  finer  touches  the  art  of  the  people's 
living. 

And  now  for  the  more  comprehensive  word  that  befits 
this  inauguration  day  of  the  exhibition.  It  should  come 
from  one  whose  information  grasps  the  material  interests, 
not  only  of  New  England  but  of  the  Union ;  who  is 
familiar  not  only  with  manufactures  and  mechanics  but 
with  commerce  and  trade,  and  whose  researches  extend 
also  to  that  older  and  nobler  science,  the  reverent  culture 
of  the  soil  itself.  It  would  be  well,  too,  we  think,  that  he 
should  be  one  who,  holding  some  national  charge  allied  to 
aU  these  pursuits,  can  speak  the  broad  and  unsectional 
word,  which  embraces  the  welfare  of  the  whole  American 
people,  and  welds  their  sympathies  as  well  as  their  inter- 
ests closer  together.  If  to  these  qualities  we  can  add  the 
orator's  voice  and  port,  his  elegance  of  declamation,  and 
his  copious  thought  and  power  of  illustration,  we  shall 
lack  nothing.  And  nothing  certainly  do  we  lack ;  for  I 
now  have  the  pleasure  of  presenting  to  you  the  fitly-chosen 
speaker  of  the  day  —  the  Hon.  George  B.  Loring,  Com- 
missioner of  Agriculture  of  the  United  States. 


WELCOME 

To  THE  National  Conference  of  Charities  in  the  Hall  of 
THE  House  of  Representatives,  Boston,  July  28, 1881. 

I  AM  grateful  for  tlie  courtesy  which  accords  to  me  the 
pleasure  of  sincerely  though  briefly  welcoming  the  Na- 
tional Conference  of  Charities  to  Massachusetts.  Espe- 
cially so  far  as  its  delegates  come  from  outside  her  own 
borders  and  represent  other  jurisdictions,  our  Common- 
wealth is  glad  of  an  opportunity  to  greet  them,  to  exhibit 
to  them  her  public  institutions,  and  to  receive  instruction 
from  them  in  the  science  of  charity  and  correction.  You 
have  met  together  in  Boston,  her  political,  social,  and  com- 
mercial capital.  This  is  her  State  House,  in  which  sat 
Andrew,  Horace  Mann,  and  Dr.  Howe,  —  names  forever 
associated  with  those  causes  of  humanity,  education,  and 
charity  in  which  you  are  engaged,  and  to  which  she  has 
never  been  disloyal.  As  you  entered  the  hall  below,  you 
saw  the  battle-flags  of  her  regiments,  there  sacredly  pre- 
served as  mementoes,  not  so  much  of  fraternal  strife  as  of 
that  healthier,  freer,  and  nobler  union,  in  behalf  of  which 
they  were  borne  by  her  sons  to  victory.  The  chamber  in 
which  you  sit  is  that  in  which  the  popular  branch  of  her 
General  Court  meets  less  to  make  laws  than  to  hear  all 
causes  of  grievance,  reform,  and  progress,  and  especially  to 
promote  the  general  advance  of  that  science  to  which  you 
give  specific  study.  I  should  misrepresent  her  if  in  any 
trite  commonplaces  of  provincial  pride  I  boasted  of  her 
correctional  and  charitable  institutions,  to  the  inspection 


NATIONAL  CHARITIES.  61 

of  which  she  cordially  invites  your  criticism  and  sugges- 
tion quite  as  much  as  your  praise,  except  perhaps  in  this, 
that  they  are  absolutely  exempt  from  political  entangle- 
ment. For  at  least  to  this  height  she  has  attained,  that  in 
aU  this  matter  she  values  her  edifices  and  appointments, 
her  officers  and  managers  as  nothing  compared  with  the 
best  care  and  true  welfare  of  those  dependents,  afflicted 
by  ills  of  body  or  of  mind,  or  even  by  crime,  who  are  her 
wards.  And  to  this  also,  that  she  recognizes  any  gain  she 
may  have  made  in  the  science  of  charity  and  correction  as 
only  elementary,  and  but  the  threshold  of  the  future,  and 
so  will  thank  you  for  any  inspiration  or  enlightenment 
that  will  help  her  onward.  And  yet,  how  great  a  gain  it 
has  been,  and  what  satisfaction  it  affords  and  justifies, 
when  she  compares  the  present  with  the  past,  —  the  sepa- 
rate prison  for  women,  a  very  asylum  and  house  of  refor- 
mation ;  the  state  prison  with  its  greatly  increased  popu- 
lation, yet  its  at  once  lighter  and  more  perfect  discipline, 
and  its  riddance  of  nearly  all  the  old  varieties  of  degrad- 
ing punishments ;  the  state  primary  school,  a  healthy  and 
happy  avenue  through  which  the  little  pauper  children  of 
the  state  go  speedily  forth  to  homes ;  the  more  humane  and 
less  restraining  treatment  of  the  insane  ;  the  education 
even  of  the  idiot ;  the  giving  of  ears  to  the  deaf,  a  tongue 
to  the  dumb,  and  sight  to  the  blind !  Nor  let  me,  in  in- 
viting your  attention  to  the  charities  of  Massachusetts, 
fail  to  assure  you  how  much  of  whatever  good  has  re- 
sulted from  them  is  due  to  private  enterprise  and  contri- 
bution ;  how  much  has  been  accomplished  by  the  forceful 
and  telling  unity  of  purpose  and  action,  which  has  come 
from  the  consolidation  of  these  private  and  local  benefi- 
cences into  county  organizations,  auxiliary  boards,  and 
what  in  Boston  is  termed  the  Associated  Charities ;  and 


62  NATIONAL  CHARITIES. 

especially  how  in  our  Commonwealtli  the  women  have 
come  to  the  front,  not  only  with  their  sympathies,  which 
are  always  alive,  but  with  the  brightest  business  tact  and 
administrative  ability. 

The  causes  in  behaK  of  which  you  meet  appeal  so 
touchingly  to  the  best  sentiments  of  the  human  heart, 
that  these  spring  to  the  lips  for  utterance  at  the  very 
thought  of  your  coming  together  —  at  the  very  sight  of 
so  much  intelligence  and  human  kindness  converging 
from  all  quarters  of  the  land,  representing  its  centres  of 
need  and  of  public  spirit,  and  gatheriug  to  deliberate  upon 
still  better  methods  by  which  to  relieve  misery,  to  cure 
infirmities,  to  stimulate  seK- respect  and  self-support. 
And  yet,  fortunately  for  the  poor,  the  insane,  the  crimi- 
nal, you  meet  as  a  matter,  not  of  sentiment,  but  of  science 
and  practical  and  economic  work.  That  certainly  is  the 
true  charity,  most  just  alike  to  the  state  and  to  the  bene- 
ficiary, which  puts  him  above  the  patronage  and  emascu- 
lation of  alms,  and  in  the  way  of  self-support.  That  is 
the  true  correction  which  brings  home  to  the  criminal  the 
conviction  that  the  wages  of  honest  labor  are  better  than 
the  wages  of  sin.  The  problem  is  easy  to  state,  but 
almost  too  intricate  to  solve,  for  the  field  on  which  you 
enter  is  as  illimitable  as  the  needs  and  frailties  of  hu- 
manity. Your  work  is  one  which  is  never  accomplished, 
which  is  always  expanding,  and  the  success  of  which  is 
never  found  in  any  resting-places  of  final  results,  but  in 
the  constancy  of  new  demands  and  further  progress.  With 
the  increase  of  immigration,  the  rapid  growth  of  cities, 
the  tumorous  excrescences  alike  of  wealth  and  poverty, 
and  the  inroads  of  ignorance  into  even  the  older  and 
more  advanced  states,  the  problem  is  never  solved,  its 
intricacies  only  shift.     In  welcoming  you,  therefore,  let 


NATIONAL  CHARITIES.  53 

me  also  in  the  name  of  the  Commonwealth,  and  of  her 
unfortunate,  her  poor  and  infirm  in  mind  and  body,  to 
whose  bettering  your  session  will  be  devoted,  thank  you 
for  what  you  have  done  and  are  doing.  The  state  must 
always  needs  move  slowly,  and  your  inquiries  and  obser- 
vations are  the  best  forerunner  of  its  legislation.  The 
myriad  fingers  of  private  benevolence  and  activity  meet 
the  necessities  which  spring  like  weeds,  yet  lose  half  their 
value  if  not  directed  by  the  best  intelligence  and  coopera- 
tion. What  is  impulse  and  misdirection,  it  is  yours  to 
organize  into  steady  principles  and  forces.  To  you  we 
look  for  fresh  methods  of  staying  pauperism,  so  that  we 
shall  not  have  it  to  maintain;  of  preventing  intemper- 
ance, so  that  we  shall  not  have  its  intolerable  and  degrad- 
ing burden  to  bear  ;  of  reforming  the  criminal,  so  that  we 
shall  not  have  him  to  punish.  And  for  your  part  in  all 
this  perpetually  recurring,  yet  always  advancing  work,  I 
only  represent  the  gratitude  of  the  people  when  I  thank 
you  and  wish  for  you  in  this  conference  and  all  your  en- 
deavors successful  and  illuminating  progress.  It  is  for 
me  not  to  make  any  specific  observations,  but  only  to 
extend  to  you  this  general  word  of  greeting.  You  have 
come  to  Massachusetts  at  the  time  of  her  summer  glory. 
Those  of  you  who  come  from  the  interior  of  the  coun- 
try will  miss  the  boundlessness  of  your  prairies  and 
wheat-fields  ;  but  you  will  find  the  cool  shadows  of  woods 
and  hills,  and  will  taste  the  fresh  and  salty  breath  of  the 
sea.  And  be  assured,  to  whatever  she  has,  whether  of 
natural  beauty,  of  historical  associations,  or  of  social  sci- 
ence, Massachusetts  cordially  welcomes  you,  alike  for 
your  own  sake  and  for  that  of  the  enlightened  and  public- 
spirited  constituencies  you  represent,  and  especially  be- 
cause you  are  of  those  of  whom  it  has  been  said.  Blessed 
is  he  that  considereth  the  poor. 


EESPONSE 

For  the  Commonwealth  at  the  Centennial  Dinner  of  the 
Massachusetts  Medical  Society,  Music  Hall,  Boston, 
June  8,  1881. 

I  AM  sure,  Mr.  President  and  members  of  the  Massa- 
chusetts Medical  Society,  that  one  of  the  fundamental 
though  unwritten  laws  of  the  Commonwealth  is  a  sound 
mind  in  a  sound  body.  A  hundred  years  ago  last  Octo- 
ber she  provided  for  the  former  by  adopting  the  consti- 
tution under  which  her  institutions  of  piety,  education, 
and  progress  have  thriven  from  that  day  to  this ;  and  a 
year  later,  and  nearly  a  hundred  years  ago,  in  order  to 
promote  the  latter  she  incorporated  the  Massachusetts 
Medical  Society  over  the  broad  sign  manual  of  her  first 
governor,  and  put  the  lives  and  limbs  of  her  citizens  into 
its  perilous  keeping.  I  say  perilous  not  altogether  lightly, 
recalling  the  reference  you  have  just  made,  sir,  to  a  "  cen- 
tury of  medicine,"  the  very  thought  of  which  almost 
necessitates  the  attendance  of  a  physician.  And  besides, 
you  celebrate  to-day  a  centennial  not  more  of  original 
beneficence  than  of  constant  progress  out  of  error  and 
ignorance  into  truth  and  knowledge.  Of  all  the  profes- 
sions, that  of  medicine,  I  take  it,  is  the  most  experimental 
and  tentative,  —  a  consideration,  by  the  way,  which  is 
very  delightful  for  the  scientist,  but  of  somewhat  doubtful 
comfort  to  the  patient,  in  spite  of  the  remark  which  Dr. 
Williams  has  just  made,  that  its  operations  are  performed 
so  "  quickly,  safely,  and  pleasantly."     During  the  century 


THE  DOCTORS.  55 

the  common  law  has  scarce  taken  a  step.  The  pulpit  has 
but  amplified,  not  always  successfully,  the  Sermon  on  the 
Mount.  But  without  knowing  anything  about  it  —  may 
it  be  long  before  I  do  know  anything  about  it  —  I  gather 
that  medicine  has  made  its  splendid  advance  by  forgetting 
and  discarding  its  yesterdays.  Of  all  the  sciences,  this, 
then,  should  be,  as  it  is,  a  liberal  science ;  and,  while  it 
gains  so  powerfully  from  such  an  organization  as  yours,  it 
will  take  care  to  escape  the  one  danger  that  attends  all 
organizations,  —  the  danger  of  limitation,  —  a  danger 
which,  however,  in  the  broadening  light  of  day,  ought  to 
cause  little  apprehension. 

The  Commonwealth,  therefore,  cordially  responds  with 
good  wishes  for  the  health  and  long  life  of  this,  which  is 
one  of  its  oldest  and  most  beneficent  incorporations.  As 
your  toast  suggests,  medicine  and  politics  go  well  to- 
gether, though  in  each  case  I  doubt  not  it  is  much  pleas- 
anter  to  administer  than  to  take  the  dose.  There  is  cer- 
tainly no  better  or  more  adroit  politician  than  the  doctor. 
And  both  medicine  and  politics  are  learning  in  the  art  of 
cure  —  one  that  it  is  better  to  recognize  nature,  let  her 
have  her  head,  not  irritate  her,  but  keep  her  well  fed  and 
in  the  line  of  her  own  direction  ;  the  other  that  it  is  bet- 
ter and  just  as  easy  to  recognize  not  the  worst  but  the 
best  sentiment  of  the  people  and  let  them  alone  as  far  as 
possible,  only  seeing  to  it  that  they  have  a  fair  chance, 
good  training  and  education,  equal  rights,  and,  of  all 
things  else,  pure  air,  pure  water,  and,  especially  within 
ten  miles  of  Boston,  good  drainage.  If  medicine  gave 
the  name  of  Warren  to  Massachusetts,  she  in  turn  gave 
it  to  the  country  and  to  history,  and  has  forever  engraved 
it  on  the  loftier  heights ;  and  she  rejoices  that  after  the 
lapse  of  a  hundred  years  it  is  still  one  of  the  most  prom- 


,66  THE  DOCTORS. 

ising  upon  her  roll.  Nor  did  Warren  more  patriotically 
devote  his  life  to  the  cause  of  patriotism  than  your  own 
associates  gave  theirs  from  1861  to  1865,  who  were  in  every 
command  of  the  war,  and  on  whom  its  horrors  and  ghastly 
spectacles  fell  all  unrelieved.  But  your  chief  significance^ 
after  all,  to  the  great  body  of  the  people  of  the  Common- 
wealth, all  of  whom  and  not  a  part  of  whom  I  represent,  is 
not  immediately  in  your  scientific  progress,  splendid  as  it 
has  been,  not  so  much  in  your  patriotic  and  political  ser- 
vices, great  as  those  have  been,  but  in  your  relation  to  their 
homes.  In  them,  in  the  relief  of  pain,  in  the  sympathy  of 
attendance,  in  the  emancipation  of  wife  and  child  from 
sickness  and  death,  in  the  tenderness  and  confidence  of  the 
friendship  of  the  family  doctor,  you  have  your  warmest 
hold  upon  their  gratitude  and  affection.  It  is  not  for  me 
to  enlarge  upon  your  broader  spheres  of  work,  or  the  re- 
liance placed  on  your  judgment  in  the  supervision  and 
administration  of  the  hospital,  the  board  of  public  health, 
the  fight  with  contagion  and  epidemic,  and  the  great  hy- 
gienic preventions  and  safeguards.  The  Commonwealth 
appreciates  it  all.  She  recognizes  what  a  century  it  has 
been  of  beneficent,  scientific,  devoted  progress,  to  which 
my  lips,  inexpert  in  its  mysteries,  can  only  pay  the  tribute 
of  mute  but  open  admiration.  You  may  have  been  impa- 
tient with  her  sometimes.  She  may  not  humor  your  every 
project.  She  may  depart  from  your  advice  now  and  then 
in  the  legislative  construction  of  a  board,  or  in  refusing  to 
apply  to  your  branch  of  American  industry  the  doctrine 
of  protection ;  but,  taken  by  and  large,  her  public  senti- 
ment gives  you  your  due,  vindicates  her  honesty  of  pur- 
pose and  in  the  main  her  soundness  of  judgment ;  and  she 
will  stand  by  you  for  another  hundred  years  to  come,  as 
she  has  stood  by  you  in  the  hundred  years  gone  by,  in  all 


THE  DOCTORS.  57 

generous,  onward  steps,  so  many  of  which  you  have  already 
taken,  and  so  many  more  of  which  you  will  hereafter 
take,  in  the  work  of  saving  the  bodies,  and,  so  far,  of 
saving  the  souls,  of  her  children. 


RESPONSE 

At  the  Banquet  at  Union  Hall,  Cambridge,  Mass.,  on  the 
Two  Hundred  and  Fiftieth  Anniversary  of  its  Settle- 
ment, December  28,  1880. 

The  conviction  has  been  growing  upon  my  mind  of 
late,  Mr.  Mayor,  that  somehow  or  other  the  times  are  out 
of  joint.  Either  my  friends  were  indeed  right  when  they 
said  that  I  was  too  young  for  public  place,  —  though  I 
never  heard  that  objection  raised  against  my  worthy  pre- 
decessor, John  Winthrop,  who  was  of  the  same  age  when 
he  became  governor,  —  or  else  everything  and  everybody 
have  suddenly  become  unaccountably  old.  When  the 
orator  of  the  day  told  of  the  little  boy,  who,  questioning 
him  about  the  recent  civil  war  in  which  he  bore  so  illus- 
trious a  part,  asked  him  if  he  was  at  the  battle  of  Bunker 
Hill,  it  did  not  surprise  me.  My  only  wonder  is  that  he 
did  not  suspect  Colonel  Higginson  of  having  been  in  the 
Pequot  War,  or  even  of  being  the  redoubtable  Miles 
Standish  himself.  Hardly  an  event  has  there  been  during 
the  short  term  of  my  administration  that  was  not  from 
an  hundred  to  two  hundred  and  fifty  years  old  ;  and  last 
week,  at  Plymouth,  the  occasion  ran  even  ten  years  be- 
yond that.  If  the  thing  goes  much  farther,  I  shaU  feel 
like  wearing  silver  buckles  and  a  ruffle,  and  putting  iron 
pots  on  the  heads  of  my  staff,  which  woidd  add  little  to 
the  thickness  of  their  skulls,  but  much  to  the  improve- 
ment of  their  personal  appearance.  How  delightful  it 
would  be,  and  how  refreshing,  if  for  a  moment  we  could 


CAMBRIDGE.  59 

only  turn  from  the  past,  and,  looking  into  the  future,  cel- 
ebrate in  advance  the  five  hundredth  anniversary  of  the 
incorporation  of  Cottage  City,  or  the  violent  annexation 
of  the  best  part  of  Belmont  to  the  city  of  Cambridge ! 
Ifc  would  give  us  such  an  admirable  opportimity,  which 
we  should  certainly  improve,  of  dwelling  upon  our  own 
services,  our  sacrifices,  our  virtues,  which  I  dare  say  are 
grander  than  any  which  have  gone  before,  and  upon  the 
simplicity  and  excellence  of  our  magistrates,  the  dignity 
of  our  mayors  and  executive  councilors,  the  stern  but 
salutary  government  of  our  colleges,  the  quiet  demeanor  of 
our  boys,  and  the  repressed  and  sombre  lives  of  our  young 
women.  How  charming  it  would  be  to  mouse  out  the 
musty  manuscript  of  the  oration  of  one  Colonel  Higgin- 
son,  veteran  of  a  great  war  and  then  in  the  militia  service 
of  Massachusetts,  and  whose  quaint  conceits  and  honest 
boasts  of  the  civilization  of  his  day  would  certainly  be 
pardonable  in  one  who  had  only  the  education  and  advan- 
tages of  the  nineteenth  century,  but  whose  pure,  though 
antiquated,  eloquence  would  go  far  to  show  that  there 
were  giants  also  in  those  days !  I  am  not  certain  that, 
had  our  ancestors  anticipated  these  anniversaries,  they 
would  not  have  most  carefully  concealed  the  dates  of  these 
early  settlements,  and  so  have  spared  their  descendants 
the  infliction  of  being  compelled  to  hear,  and,  what  is 
infinitely  sadder,  my  friends,  being  compelled  to  speak, 
these  conventional  anniversary  addresses. 

But  seriously,  Mr.  Mayor,  having  been  present  at  many 
similar  occasions,  I  can  most  truly  say  here,  what  I  have 
most  truly  said  at  all  the  rest  of  them,  that  nowhere  is 
there  such  a  wealth  of  historic  interest ;  nowhere  such  a 
succession  of  significant  events ;  nowhere  such  elements  of 
high,  sterling  character ;  nowhere  such  enterprise,  faith, 


60  CAMBRIDGE. 

courage,  devotion ;  nowhere  such  love  and  appreciation  of 
learning,  and  such  contribution  to  its  diffusion,  as  in  the 
early  history  of  the  time  and  place  which  you  now  cele- 
brate. Comprehensive  and  conciliatory  as  that  statement 
is,  it  is  yet  the  simple  truth.  Each  of  these  anniversaries 
we  do  weU  to  celebrate  by  oration  and  banquet,  by  peal 
of  bells  and  roar  of  cannon,  by  the  presence  of  citizen 
men  and  women,  by  strains  of  music  and  decorations  of 
halls,  and  by  the  spirited  songs  of  children  who  bring 
their  impressible  minds  to  have  photographed  upon  them 
the  glory  and  goodness  of  the  past.  For  each  of  them  is 
a  type  of  all  the  rest,  and  all  pay  common  tribute  to  a 
common  origin,  a  common  ancestry,  and  a  common  train- 
ing, to  which  we  are  all  alike  indebted.  If  there  is  a  con- 
tinual glitter  through  the  whole  year,  it  is  because,  all 
around  her  coronet,  Massachusetts  is  studded  thick  with 
jewels. 

With  you  it  may  well  be  your  pride  that  it  is  light  and 
honor  and  growth  all  the  way  down  in  one  broadening 
path,  from  the  beginning  till  this  day.  When  your  orator 
rose  this  afternoon  it  seemed  to  me  his  only  burden  was 
his  embarrassment  of  riches.  How  well  he  bore  that  bur- 
den those  who  were  present  and  listened  to  him  can  bear 
witness.  Winthrop  and  Dudley  were  in  at  your  birth. 
The  sacred  name  of  the  apostle  John  Eliot,  stiU  worthily 
honored,  is  associated  with  the  history  of  a  portion  of 
your  ancient  town.  With  Cambridge  is  hallowed  in  every 
heart  and  every  memory  the  establishment  of  that  little 
college,  which  has  now  become,  in  this  your  city,  the 
most  famous  university  in  America.  And  where  learn- 
ing is,  there  religion,  patriotism,  and  poetry  also  take 
root.  From  here  Hooker  went  to  found  a  pious  city. 
Upon  these  greens  the  American  army  was  drawn  up. 


CAMBRIDGE.  61 

Under  these  elms  Washington  drew  his  sword  and  took 
command.  Along  these  highways  marched  Putnam, 
Stark,  Green,  and  those  other  heroes,  at  the  bare  mention 
of  whose  names  —  so  tender  is  always  the  Revolutionary 
memory  —  the  heart  stirs  to  patriotic  tears  quite  as  much 
as  it  stirs  with  patriotic  pride.  On  your  shores  landed 
that  flaunting  detachment  of  British  soldiers,  which,  after 
their  memorable  march  to  Lexington  and  Concord,  came 
back  with  broken  ranks  and  trailing  colors.  Here  is  the 
house  of  Lowell ;  this  is  the  birthplace  of  Holmes,  whose 
wit  and  song  and  story  and  talk  are  that  very  health,  the 
promotion  of  which  has  been  his  humbler  and  every-day 
calling.  And  here  lives  Longfellow,  to  apply  to  whom 
any  descriptive  praise  except  to  call  him  poet  is  to  show 
what  is  the  poverty  on  my  tongue  of  that  language  which 
in  his  moulding  is  only  the  potter's  clay  of  grace  and 
beauty  and  tenderness.  Here,  too,  was  the  volunteering  — 
history  again  repeating  itself  —  of  your  best  blood  and 
bravest  patriotism  in  the  last  great  fight  for  liberty  and 
union. 

But  it  is  not  for  me  to  attempt  an  enumeration  of  names 
and  events  which  could  only  be  an  injustice  by  reason  of 
its  meagreness.  Nor  may  I  refer  to  my  own  memories  of 
Cambridge  ;  or  to  my  first  sight  of  its  towers,  one  morn- 
ing in  June,  so  near  the  dawn  that  even  the  "  hourlies  " 
were  not  yet  up  and  running,  when  at  fourteen  years  of 
age,  going  to  my  college  entrance  examination,  I  walked 
all  the  way  from  Boston,  keeping  the  right-hand  side  of 
Main  Street,  every  inch  of  which  is  blistered  into  my 
memory  to  this  day  ;  or  to  the  later  hour  when  I  sat  cry- 
ing in  utter  homesickness  on  the  western  steps  of  Gore 
Hall.  That  was  certainly  two  hundred  and  fifty  years 
ago,  and  the  hearts  that  throbbed  most  at  such  a  poor 
matter  as  my  boyish  heart-break  are  long  since  at  rest. 


62  CAMBRIDGE. 

I  said  a  broadening  path  of  growth.  That  is  true. 
Venerable  and  honorable  as  is  the  past,  our  faces  should 
be  set  toward  the  future.  It  is  to  the  future  that  Massa- 
chusetts, always  alert  and  progressive,  points  her  finger. 
If  she  reveres  and  honors  the  time  gone  by,  as  you  revere 
and  honor  it  to-day,  it  is  only  that  she  may  be  stimulated 
to  better  work  in  the  time  to  come.  We  would  not  go 
back  if  we  could.  To  do  so  would  be  to  sleep  like  Rip 
Van  Winkle,  and  wake  to  find  that  the  world  had  swept 
by  us,  and  out  of  sight,  our  garments  out  at  elbow  and 
our  muskets  crumbling.  We  may  not  have  improved 
much,  as  we  certainly  have  not,  upon  the  purpose,  the 
spirit,  the  moral  force,  the  ultimate  aim  for  self  and 
for  those  who  were  to  come  after,  which  distinguished 
our  fathers ;  but  the  expression,  the  appointments,  the 
methods,  are  a  thousand  times  better.  Religion  is  still 
the  same,  but  its  garment  of  doctrine  and  formula  has 
been  renewed  more  than  once.  Character  is  still  the  man  ; 
but  education,  which  is  his  fingers  and  his  safeguard,  has 
extended  till  it  commands  every  spring  and  force  of 
nature,  and  every  avenue  of  intelligence  and  science.  Our 
food  is  better,  our  clothing  is  better,  our  health  is  better, 
our  books,  our  homes,  our  enjoyments  are  all  better.  Our 
children  are  healthier,  and  life  is  more  worth  living  to-day 
than  it  was  then.  Let  us,  however,  not  forget  that  if  it  is 
so  it  is  because  the  germ  was  in  the  early  soil,  and  because 
our  fathers,  who  planted  it  and  nurtured  it,  were  true  to 
themselves  and  true  to  us.  Therefore  let  us  honor  their 
memories,  and  let  us  hand  down  to  those  who  shall  come 
after  us  the  opportunity  and  the  purpose  for  a  gain  and  a 
growth  greater  than  our  own.  There  is  one  word  that 
sums  it  all,  and  that  word  is  progress;  that  word  is 
Massachusetts ;  that  word   is   every  human  soul,  every 


CAMBRIDGE.  63 

home,  every  town  within  her  borders  ;  that  word,  emphati- 
cally, is  this  your  beautiful  and  classic,  your  ancient  and 
famous  city  of  Cambridge,  this  graceful  cluster  of  homes 
upon  the  banks  of  the  Charles,  this  sparkling  gem  upon 
the  fair  forehead  of  the  Commonwealth. 


EESPONSE 

At  the  Dinner  of  the  Oxford  Bears,  at  Gilbert's  Hall, 
Portland,  Maine,  May  27,  1885. 

I  CONFESS,  Mr.  Chairman,  that  too  often  called,  as  I  am, 
to  these  festival  occasions,  yet  I  was  downright  glad  to  get 
an  invitation  to  this  one.  If  there  was  ever  a  thorough- 
going provincial,  if  there  was  ever  a  native  of  the  fields 
that  was  loyal  to  rural  life,  if  ever  a  bear  went  out  of 
rugged  Oxford  County  that  never  lost  his  sweet  tooth  for 
her  honey,  I  claim  to  share  in  that  distinction.  Did  not, 
Mr.  Emery,  your  father  and  mine  interchange  their  rhym- 
ing muses  over  the  hills  of  Paris  and  Buckfield  ?  Was  I 
not  born  in  one  of  Oxford's  nestling  cradles,  in  a  village 
lovelier  than  sweet  Auburn,  loveliest  village  of  the  plain, 
—  in  a  happier  valley  than  the  Abyssinian  seclusion  of 
Kasselas,  —  by  the  side  of  one  of  Oxford's  streams,  whose 
music  sang  me,  a  child,  to  sleep,  and  has  sung  in  my 
dreams  ever  since,  —  under  the  exquisite  elms  that  are 
the  grace  of  her  landscape,  —  and  among  the  fairest  hills 
that  ever  broke  the  golden  sunsets  of  the  west  or  lifted 
the  luxuriant  foliage  of  a  Maine  summer  ?  Did  not  "  old 
Streaked  "  teach  my  youth  the  glory  of  the  mountains  as 
well  as  feed  me  with  the  nutritious  and  wholesome  blue- 
berry ?  Did  I  not  graduate  at  Hebron  Academy,  and  do 
I  not  recall  that  temple  of  learning  as  the  most  imposing 
architectural  pile  and  spire  that  ever  awed  a  schoolboy  ? 
"Was  it  not  there  I  stammered  my  first  declamation,  and 
in  a  very  still,  small  voice  thundered  Cicero's  question  to 


OXFORD  COUNTY.  65 

Catiline,  demanding  how  long  he  proposed  to  abuse  our 
patience?  Was  it  not  at  Hebron  that  the  song  of  the 
frogs  and  the  glow  of  the  fire-fly  associated  themselves 
forever  in  the  mind  of  a  homesick  lad  with  a  tender  mel- 
ancholy which  to  this  day  they  never  fail  to  revive,  little 
as  you  would  suspect  it  from  my  personal  appearance  ? 
Was  it  not  of  his  poverty-stricken  term  at  Hebron  that 
my  father  wrote  to  me,  referring  to  his  own  struggles  in 
lines  which  I  recall :  — 

"  How  I  was  poor  and  lame  and  lean, 
Wore  homespun  clothes  of  bottle  green  ; 
Your  grandsire's  wedding  coat  resigned, 
Turned  inside  out  and  patched  behind  ; 
My  brother  Tom's  old  vest  of  blue 
Five  summers  after  it  was  new. 
And  how  I  traveled  to  recite 
Two  miles  at  morning,  two  at  night, 
Because  I  could  not  then  afford 
To  pay  the  price  of  nearer  board, 
Or  people  nearer  did  not  choose 
To  take  their  pay  in  making  shoes." 

Why,  sir,  Oxford  County  to  me  is  a  volume  of  poems, 
a  paradise  of  nature.  Her  crests  of  blue  against  the 
summer  sky,  and  in  winter  white  with  glistening  snow, 
her  pure  waters,  her  cool  woods,  her  picturesque  roads 
winding  over  hill  and  down  dale,  her  exquisite  intermin- 
gling of  forest  and  farm,  are  such  a  natural  park  of  love- 
liness and  magnificence  as  no  metropolitan  wealth  or  art 
can  ever  imitate. 

For  one,  I  owe  it  a  deeper  debt.  Enlarging  and  edu- 
cating as  were  its  physical  influences,  I  pay  my  tribute 
still  more  gratefully  to  the  living  influences  of  its  people. 
In  American  life  and  struggle,  I  believe  there  is  no  such 
education  as  that  of  a  country  boy's  contact  in  school  and 


QQ  OXFORD  COUNTY. 

at  all  times  with  the  social  democracy  of  a  country  such 
as  Oxford  County  typifies,  —  absolutely  meeting  the  ideal 
of  a  free  and  equal  people,  and  ignorant  of  such  a  thing 
as  caste  or  class. 

Add  to  such  a  democracy  the  elements  of  the  education 
of  the  common  schools,  the  unfettered  exercise  of  religious 
freedom,  the  popular  political  discussion  of  the  street 
corner,  the  store,  and  the  hay-field,  the  frequent  vacancies 
of  leisure,  the  common  knowledge  of  men  and  things, 
the  splendid  ingrained  inheritance  of  English  common 
law  ripened  into  the  maxims,  habits,  converse,  and  system 
of  the  people,  the  absence  on  the  one  hand  of  great  ac- 
cumulations of  wealth,  and  on  the  other  of  any  conscious- 
ness of  the  deprivations  of  extreme  poverty,  and  especially 
that  unconscious  unreserve  and  inartificiality  of  inter- 
course which  made  the  hewer  of  stone  the  free  and  easy, 
if  not  superior,  disputant  as  well  as  companion  of  the 
owner  of  the  field,  —  add  all  these,  and  you  have  an 
atmosphere  of  education,  out  of  which  no  boy  could 
emerge  and  not  have  a  fitting  for  future  life  such  as  the 
metropolis  with  its  schools,  the  university  with  its  colleges, 
could  not  give,  a  homely  familiarity  with  the  popular 
mind,  an  inbred  sympathy  with  the  masses,  not  artificial 
or  assumed,  but  a  part  of  character  itself,  and  a  helpful 
agency  in  public  service  and  in  useful  conduct  in  life. 
Its  fruits  you  see  to-day,  and  for  years  have  seen,  in  the 
elements  which  from  rural  counties  like  Oxford  have  gone 
into  the  busy  avenues  of  our  national  life  and  given  enter- 
prise, growth,  success  to  the  business,  the  government,  the 
literature,  and  the  progress  of  our  country. 

Yes,  my  friends,  I  believe  we  are  here  to  utter  our  grat- 
itude to  the  men  and  women  who  gave  a  popular  tone  to 
Oxford  County  worthy  of  her  hills  and  the  grandeur  and 


OXFORD  COUNTY.  67 

strength  of  her  physical  magnificence.  My  gratitude  is 
from  a  full  heart.  I  recognize  with  profound  emotion 
the  resolute,  generous,  and  fruitful  purpose  and  force 
which  our  fathers  put  into  their  farms  and  water-courses 
and  trading-posts.  I  look  back  and  behold  worth  and 
highmindedness  driving  the  oxen  afield,  cutting  the  wood, 
tending  the  sawmill,  leading  the  training  field  and  the 
election,  doing  neighborly  turns  and  kindnesses,  barter- 
ing the  worsted  mitten  over  the  counter,  and  making  the 
wholesomest  texture  of  a  pastoral,  provincial  life  the 
world  has  ever  seen  or  ever  will  see,  —  the  ideal  combina- 
tion of  industry,  equality,  freedom,  intelligence,  and  high 
character.  We  talk  nowadays  of  poverty ;  we  pity  our 
city  full  of  poor;  we  create  and  foster  our  associated 
charities.  And  yet  you  have  among  you  in  this  great 
city  hardly  a  family  so  scanty  in  their  means,  so  comfort- 
less in  their  homes,  —  thanks  to  the  inventions,  improve- 
ments, and  distributions  of  modern  times,  —  as  the  pioneers 
of  Oxford  County  less  than  a  hundred  years  ago.  We 
little  realize  the  rapid  spread  of  those  means  of  making 
life  easier,  which  of  later  years  have  given  to  the  poorest 
hearth  comforts  which  then  the  richest  did  not  dream  of. 
It  was  the  best  blood  of  Massachusetts  —  pure  English 
stock,  little  changed  even  to  this  day,  the  best  families  of 
Pilgrim  and  Puritan  descent  —  which  after  the  Revolution- 
ary war  made  their  way  to  Oxford  County.  But  like  all 
pioneers,  they  had  little  of  this  world's  goods,  and  brought 
little  except  their  splendid  inheritance  of  worth  and  char- 
acter, their  brave  hearts  and  honest,  hardworking  hands. 
How  illustrative  of  all  this  straitened  circumstance  is  the 
story  of  that  haK  fisherman  and  half  shoemaker,  pestered 
by  debt,  and  at  last  selling  his  little  farm  in  the  mother 
commonwealth,  and  with  his  wife  and  brood  of  children, 


68  OXFORD  COUNTY. 

his  kit  of  tools  and  scanty  household  furniture,  sailing  by 
packet  from  Plymouth  to  Salem,  and  thence  journeying 
overland  in  a  pioneer's  wagon,  which  held  all  he  had,  a 
hundred  and  fifty  miles  into  the  uplands  of  Oxford  County, 
Maine,  in  1806.  How  often  my  father,  God  bless  him, 
has  told  me  of  their  arrival  at  the  foot  of  the  mile-long 
hill,  at  the  top  of  which  was  the  journey's  end,  with  its 
half-finished  house  and  half -cleared  farm  ;  of  himself,  six 
years  old,  and  his  older  brother,  running  barefoot  ahead 
of  the  team  to  get  the  first  glimpse  of  their  future  home, 

—  a  cheerless  enclosure  of  boards,  but  to  them  a  paradise, 

—  stopping  now  and  then  to  pick  the  thistles  from  their 
hardy  little  feet.  There  is  a  famous  picture  painted  by  a 
French  artist  called  the  First  Arrival.  It  represents  a  lofty 
cliff  overlooking  a  landscape  of  the  richest  luxuriance,  and 
itself  affluent  with  vines  and  sunshine.  On  it  are  the 
crumbling  walls  of  an  ancient  castle  that  even  in  its  ruins 
suggests  the  pomp  and  circumstance  of  wealth  and  power. 
A  gay  party  of  youths  and  maidens  have  clambered  up  to 
look  at  it  and  from  it.  Foremost,  the  first  to  arrive  is  a 
beautiful  girl,  richly  dressed,  herself  a  flushed  dream  of 
loveliness,  a  child  of  opulence  and  luxury,  who  for  one 
bright  summer  morning  spices  the  ennui  of  satiety  with  a 
fresh  touch  of  nature  and  the  pure  breath  of  the  moun- 
tain air.  It  is  a  rare  picture,  and  yet  I  wish  some  artist 
might  draw,  as  I  in  imagination  can  see,  that  poor,  ragged, 
barefooted  boy  who  had  never  a  luxury  of  food  or  cloth- 
ing or  amusement,  whose  bare  feet  were  pricked  with 
thistles,  who  climbed  that  Oxford  hill,  and  who,  though  he 
looked  not  on  baronial  castles  or  landscapes  luxuriant  with 
vines,  yet  thriUed  with  a  New  England  boy's  pride  in  his 
father's  freehold,  and  with  a  New  England  boy's  prophetic 
unconsciousness,  if  I  may  so  say,  of  a  chance  and  a  future 


OXFORD  COUNTY.  69 

for  him  also  in  the  world,  as  well  as  for  the  most  favored 
child  of  fortune  —  for  him  a  Latin  grammar,  though  a  bor- 
rowed one ;  for  him  an  entrance  into  the  academy,  though 
but  for  a  single  term  ;  for  him  a  place  in  the  community  and 
a  claim  on  its  respect  and  honor  ;  and  for  him  the  means  to 
give  his  own  children  the  opportunities  of  education  and 
learning  which  had  been  denied  himself.  Pardon  me  if  I 
recall  this  and  the  universal  hardships  of  those  days,  — 
the  great  families  of  children,  the  narrow  means,  —  even 
the  neighborly  lending  and  borrowing  from  the  scanty 
pork  barrel,  the  footings  knit  of  winter  nights  to  buy 
the  comfort  now  and  then  of  groceries  from  the  village 
store,  the  rude  unfinished  house  round  which  the  snow- 
blast  howled,  the  green  wood  drawn  from  the  night's 
snowdrift  and  cut  and  split  to  make  the  morning  fire  on 
the  open  hearth,  the  coarse,  plain,  unvaried  fare,  the  long, 
hard,  poorly  paying  journeys  to  distant  markets,  the  stress 
of  debt,  the  tugging  strain  of  years  to  turn  the  woodland 
into  tillage,  —  and  yet  running  through  all  this  toil  and 
privation  and  hardship  an  infinite  cheer  and  humor,  and 
also  the  courage,  the  Pilgrim  earnestness,  the  religious 
faith,  the  love  of  family  and  country,  the  hope  and  sacrifice 
for  children,  the  inborn  instinct  of  the  freeholder,  which 
redeemed  and  glorified  all  else,  and  to-day  command  our 
respect  and  pride  as  the  qualities  of  no  other  ancestry 
could.  If  it  was  poverty,  it  was  not  the  poverty  of  de- 
pendence or  charity  or  disparagement  in  any  form,  but 
povet'ty  with  independence  and  pride,  living  within  such 
means  as  were  its  own,  and  finding  enough  even  at  that 
with  which  to  build  the  church  and  the  academy,  to 
keep  the  law,  to  have  the  schoolmaster,  to  buy  a  book,  to 
get  the  contents  of  the  newspaper,  to  understand  the  ele- 
ments of  constitutional  and  common  law,  to  vote  honestly 


70  OXFORD  COUNTY. 

and  intelligently,  to  go  to  the  legislature,  to  discuss  in 
town  meeting  the  affairs  of  town  and  state  and  country, 
and  to  fill  out  the  full  measure  of  the  enlightened  citizen 
of  the  republic. 

I  do  not  forget  that  there  were  other  and  very  marked 
shadings  of  the  picture,  but  this  was  the  sort  of  men  who 
were  most  distinctive  of  Oxford  County,  and  who  gave  it 
character.  What  splendid  stock  it  was !  What  sturdy 
English  names, — those  Mitchells,  Lincolns,  Holmeses, 
Lorings,  Emerys,  Parsons,  Taylors,  Cushings,  Halls, 
Bicknells,  Perrys,  Washburns,  Hamlins,  Aldens,  Mortons, 
Whitmans,  and  hundreds  more !  Hardly  a  family,  how- 
ever hard  its  fight  with  adverse  circumstances,  that  has 
not  been  a  contributor  to  the  enterprise,  the  scholarship, 
the  statesmanship,  the  patriotism,  that  have  made  our 
country  great. 

In  every  avenue  of  its  usefulness  you  filnd  their  trace. 
You  hear  their  eloquence  in  every  court  and  congress. 
You  saw  the  flash  of  their  swords  in  every  battle  for  free- 
dom. Well  may  we  recall  the  men  of  Oxford  with  pride 
and  gratitude.  No  narrow  scope  was  theirs.  They  nursed 
the  schools.  They  valued  and  exemplified  and  maintained 
the  education  of  the  people.  They  contended  for  good 
politics.  They  discussed  fundamental  issues.  Could  you 
awake  the  voices  of  the  past  you  would  hear  them  also 
treat  of  reform,  of  tariff  and  revenue,  and  of  the  relations 
of  the  general  government  to  its  local  components,  with 
all  the  vigor  and  enlightenment  which  we  sometimes  think 
to  be  the  exclusive  attainment  of  our  own  time. 

I  thank  you,  sir,  for  permitting  me  to  join  with  you  in 
your  tribute  to  Oxford.  The  occasion  touches  me  very 
tenderly,  for  it  carries  my  heart  and  betrays  my  utter- 
ance into  sacred  memories  of  my  own  boyhood  and  home. 


OXFORD  COUNTY.  71 

They  come  freshly  back  to  me,  as  yours  to  you,  and  I 
stand  again  at  the  threshold  of  an  opening  world,  with  the 
sunrise  on  my  face.  Again  I  sit  at  the  blessed  family 
fireplace  as  of  old,  unthinking  then  of  the  love  and  fer- 
vent devotion  to  my  welfare  and  advancement  to  which  I 
owe  everything,  and  which  to  me  now,  looking  back,  is  aU 
so  clear.  I  knew  not  then  that  angels'  wings  brushed  my 
cheeks.  Now  I  strain  my  eyes  to  heaven  to  catch  their 
flight. 


ORATION 

Before  the  Grand  Army  Posts  of  Suffolk  County  at  Tre- 
MONT  Temple,  Boston,  May  30,  1882. 

I  GRATEFULLY  acknowledge  your  courtesy,  veterans 
and  members  of  the  Suffolk  posts  of  the  Grand  Army,  in 
inviting  me,  a  civilian,  to  speak  for  you  this  day.  I  should 
shrink  from  the  task,  however,  did  I  not  know  that,  in 
this,  your  purpose  is  to  honor  again  the  Commonwealth  of 
which  I  am  the  official  representative.  By  recent  enact- 
ment she  has  made  the  day  you  celebrate  one  of  her  holy 
days,  —  a  day  sacred  to  the  memory  of  her  patriot  dead 
and  to  the  inspiration  of  patriotism  in  her  living.  Hence- 
forward, she  emblazons  it  upon  the  calendar  of  the  year 
with  the  consecrated  days  that  have  come  down  from  the 
Pilgrim  and  the  Puritan,  with  Christmas  Day  and  with  the 
birthdays  of  Washington  and  American  Independence. 
So  she  commits  herself  afresh  to  the  eternal  foundations, 
which  the  fathers  laid,  of  piety,  education,  freedom,  jus- 
tice, law,  and  love  of  country.  The  time  will  come  indeed, 
and  speedily,  when  none  of  you  shall  remain  to  observe  it, 
and  when  the  last  survivor,  shouldering  his  crutch  no 
more,  shall  lie  down  to  rest  with  no  comrade  left  to  shed 
a  tear  or  flower  upon  his  grave.  But  the  service  you  did, 
the  sacrifice  you  made,  the  example  you  taught,  more  im- 
mortal than  your  crumbling  dust,  will  forever  live  and 
illume  the  world,  as  in  the  heavens,  speeding  so  far  from 
us  that  the  eye  sees  not  the  vapor  that  enshrouds  them, 
the  stars  shine  only  in  purer  and  eternal  glory.     I  can  un- 


MEMORIAL  DAY.  73 

derstand  that,  when  the  war  closed,  the  same  disinterested 
and  single  loyalty,  which  compelled  the  true  citizen  to 
arms,  made  many  a  soldier  shrink  from  even  the  appear- 
ance of  farther  display,  either  by  joining  your  organiza- 
tion or  by  publicly  engaging  in  the  decoration  of  graves. 
But  with  the  lapse  of  time,  with  the  inroads  on  the  ranks, 
with  this  statutory  recognition  by  the  commonwealth,  — 
a  recognition  not  more  apt  in  desert  than  in  time,  — 
Memorial  Day  will  hereafter  gather  around  it  not  only 
the  love  and  tears  and  pride  of  the  generations  of  the 
people,  but  more  and  more,  in  its  inner  circle  of  tender- 
ness, the  linking  memories  of  every  comrade,  so  long  as 
one  survives.  As  the  dawn  ushers  it  in,  tinged  already 
with  the  exquisite  flush  of  hastening  June,  and  sweet 
with  the  bursting  fragrance  of  her  roses,  the  wheels  of 
time  will  each  year  roll  back,  and,  lo !  John  Andrew  is  at 
the  state  house,  inspiring  Massachusetts  with  the  throb- 
bing of  his  own  great  heart ;  Abraham  Lincoln,  wise  and 
patient  and  honest  and  tender  and  true,  is  at  the  nation's 
helm  ;  the  North  is  one  broad  blaze  ;  the  boys  in  blue  are 
marching  to  the  front ;  the  fife  and  drum  are  on  every 
breeze ;  the  very  air  is  patriotism ;  Phil  Sheridan,  forty 
miles  away,  dashes  back  to  turn  defeat  to  victory  ;  Farra- 
gut,  lashed  to  the  mast-head,  is  steaming  into  Mobile  Har- 
bor ;  Hooker  is  above  the  clouds,  —  ay,  now  indeed  for- 
ever above  the  clouds  ;  Sherman  marches  through  Georgia 
to  the  sea ;  Grant  has  throttled  Lee  with  the  grip  that 
never  lets  go ;  Richmond  falls ;  the  armies  of  the  republic 
pass  in  that  last  great  review  at  Washington ;  Custer's 
plume  is  there,  but  Kearney's  saddle  is  empty ;  and,  now 
again,  our  veterans  come  marching  home  to  receive  the 
welcome  of  a  grateful  people,  and  to  stack  in  Doric  Hall 
the  tattered  flags  which  Massachusetts  forever  hence  shall 
wear  above  her  heart. 


74  MEMORIAL  DAY. 

In  memory  of  the  dead,  in  honor  of  the  living,  for  in- 
spiration to  our  children,  we  gather  to-day  to  deck  the 
graves  of  our  patriots  with  flowers,  to  pledge  common- 
wealth and  town  and  citizen  to  fresh  recognition  of  the 
surviving  soldier,  and  to  picture  yet  again  the  romance, 
the  reality,  the  glory,  the  sacrifice  of  his  service.  As  if 
it  were  but  yesterday,  you  recall  him.  He  had  but  turned 
twenty.  The  exquisite  tint  of  youthful  health  was  in  his 
cheek.  His  pure  heart  shone  from  frank,  outspeaking 
eyes.  His  fair  hair  clustered  from  beneath  his  cap.  He 
had  pulled  a  stout  oar  in  the  college  race,  or  walked  the 
most  graceful  athlete  on  the  village  green.  He  had  just 
entered  on  the  vocation  of  his  life.  The  doorway  of  his 
home  at  this  season  of  the  year  was  brilliant  in  the  dewy 
morn  with  the  clambering  vine  and  fragrant  flower,  as  in 
and  out  he  went,  the  beloved  of  mother  and  sisters,  and 
the  ideal  of  a  New  England  youth ;  — 

**  In  face  and  shoulders  like  a  god  he  was  ; 
For  o'er  him  had  the  goddess  breathed  the  charm 
Of  youthful  locks,  the  ruddy  glow  of  youth, 
A  generous  gladness  in  his  eyes  :  such  grace 
As  carver's  hand  to  ivory  gives,  or  when 
Silver  or  Parian  stone  in  yellow  gold 
Is  set." 

The  unreckoned  influences  of  the  great  discussion  of 
human  rights  had  insensibly  moulded  him  into  a  champion 
of  freedom.  He  had  passed  no  solitary  and  sleepless 
night  watching  the  armor  which  he  was  to  wear  when 
dubbed  next  day  with  the  accolade  of  knighthood.  But 
over  the  student's  lamp  or  at  the  fireside's  blaze  he  had 
passed  the  nobler  initiate  of  a  heart  and  mind  trained  to 
a  fine  sense  of  justice  and  to  a  resolution  equal  to  the 
sacrifice  of  life  itself  in  behalf  of  right  and  duty.     He 


MEMORIAL  DAY.  76 

knew  nothing  of  the  web  and  woof  of  politics,  but  he 
knew  instinctively  the  needs  of  his  country.  His  ideal 
was  Philip  Sidney,  not  Napoleon.  And  when  the  drum 
beat,  when  the  first  martyr's  blood  sprinkled  the  stones  of 
Baltimore,  he  took  his  place  in  the  ranks  and  went  for- 
ward. You  remember  his  ingenuous  and  glowing  letters 
to  his  mother,  written  as  if  his  pen  were  dipped  in  his 
very  heart.  How  novel  seemed  to  him  the  routine  of  ser- 
vice, the  life  of  camp  and  march  !  How  eager  the  wish 
to  meet  the  enemy  and  strike  his  first  blow  for  the  good 
cause  I  What  pride  at  the  promotion  that  came  and  put 
its  chevron  on  his  arm  or  its  strap  upon  his  shoulder ! 
How  graphically  he  described  his  sensation  in  the  first 
battle,  the  pallor  that  he  felt  creeping  up  his  face,  the 
thrilling  along  every  nerve,  and  then  the  utter  fearless- 
ness when  once  the  charge  began  and  his  blood  was  up  I 
Later  on,  how  gratefully  he  wrote  of  the  days  in  hospital, 
of  the  opening  of  the  box  from  home,  of  the  generous  dis- 
tributing of  delicacies  that  loving  ones  had  sent,  and  of 
the  never-to-be-forgotten  comfort  of  the  gentle  nurse  whose 
eyes  and  hands  seemed  to  bring  to  his  bedside  the  summer 
freshness  and  health  of  the  open  windows  of  his  and  her 
New  England  homestead  !  No  Amazon  was  she  with  cal- 
lous half -breast;  but  her  whole  woman's  heart  was  de- 
voted, as  were  the  hearts  of  all  her  sisters  at  the  North,  to 
lightening  the  hardships  and  pain  of  war.  Let  her  praise 
never  fail  to  mingle  in  the  soldier's  tribute,  or  her  abilities 
be  belittled  in  a  land  to  whose  salvation  and  honor  she 
contributed  as  nobly  in  her  service  as  he  in  his. 

They  took  him  prisoner.  He  wasted  in  Libby  and 
grew  gaunt  and  haggard  with  the  horror  of  his  sufferings 
and  with  pity  for  the  greater  horror  of  the  sufferings  of 
his  comrades  who  fainted  and  died  at  his  side.     He  saw 


76  MEMORIAL  DAY. 

his  schoolmate  panting  with  the  fever  of  thirst,  yet  shot 
like  a  dog  for  reaching  across  the  line  to  drink  the  stag- 
nant water  a  dog  would  have  scorned.  He  tunneled  the 
earth  and  escaped.  Hungry  and  weak,  in  terror  of  recap- 
ture, he  followed  by  night  the  pathway  of  the  railroad. 
Upon  its  timbers,  hoar  with  frost,  he  tottered  in  the  dark 
over  rivers  that  flowed  deep  beneath  his  treacherous  foot- 
hold. He  slept  in  thickets  and  sank  in  swamps.  In  long 
and  painful  circuits  he  stole  around  hamlets  where  he 
dared  not  ask  for  shelter.  He  saw  the  glitter  of  horse- 
men who  pursued  him.  He  knew  the  bloodhound  was  on 
his  track.  A  faithful  negro  —  good  Samaritan  —  took 
compassion  on  him,  bound  up  his  wounds,  and  set  him  on 
his  way.  He  reached  the  line  ;  and,  with  his  hand  grasp- 
ing at  freedom,  they  caught  and  took  him  back  to  his  cap- 
tivity. He  was  exchanged  at  last ;  and  you  remember, 
when  he  came  home  on  a  short  furlough,  how  manly  and 
war-worn  he  had  grown.  But  he  soon  returned  to  the 
ranks  and  to  the  welcome  of  his  comrades.  They  loved 
him  for  his  manliness,  his  high  bearing,  his  fine  sense  of 
honor.  They  felt  the  nobility  of  conduct  and  character 
that  breathed  out  from  him.  They  recall  him  now  alike 
with  tears  and  pride.  In  the  rifle-pits  around  Petersburg 
you  heard  his  steady  voice  and  firm  command.  The  bul- 
let of  the  sharp-shooter  picked  off  the  soldier  who  stood 
at  his  side  and  who  fell  dying  in  his  arms,  one  last  brief 
message  whispered  and  faithfully  sent  home.  It  was  a 
forlorn  hope,  —  the  charge  of  the  brave  regiment  to  which 
he  belonged,  reduced  now  by  three  years'  long  fighting  to 
a  hundred  veterans,  conscious  that  somebody  had  blun- 
dered yet  grimly  obedient  to  duty.  Some  one  who  saw 
him  then  fancied  that  he  seemed  that  day  like  one  who 
forefelt   the   end.      But    there   was   no   flinching   as   he 


MEMORIAL  DAY.  77 

charged.  He  had  just  turned  to  give  a  cheer  when  the 
fatal  ball  struck  him.  There  was  a  convulsion  of  the  up- 
ward hand.  His  eyes,  pleading  and  loyal,  turned  their 
last  glance  to  the  flag.  His  lips  parted.  He  fell  dead, 
and  at  nightfall  lay  with  his  face  to  the  stars.  Home 
they  brought  him,  fairer  than  Adonis  over  whom  the  god- 
dess of  beauty  wept.  They  buried  him  in  the  village 
churchyard  under  the  green  turf.  Year  by  year  his  com- 
rades and  his  kin,  nearer  than  comrades,  scatter  his  grave 
with  flowers.  His  picture  hangs  on  the  homestead  walls. 
Children  look  up  at  it  and  ask  to  hear  his  story  told.  It 
was  twenty  years  ago ;  and  the  face  is  so  young,  so  boyish 
and  fair,  that  you  cannot  believe  he  was  the  hero  of  twenty 
battles,  a  veteran  in  the  wars,  a  leader  of  men,  brave, 
cool,  commanding,  great.  Do  you  ask  who  he  was  ?  He 
was  in  every  regiment  and  every  company.  He  went  out 
from  every  Massachusetts  village.  He  sleeps  in  every 
Massachusetts  burying-ground.  Recall  romance,  recite 
the  names  of  heroes  of  legend  and  song,  but  there  is  none 
that  is  his  peer.  Can  you  think  of  him  and  not  count  the 
cost  of  such  a  precious  life,  not  thrill  with  gratitude  at 
such  a  sacrifice,  not  ask  why  such  promise,  such  hope, 
such  worth,  should  have  been  cut  down  ?  I  know  not  why 
it  is  that,  if  the  future  is  always  progress,  the  past  is  al- 
ways sacrifice,  unless  it  be  that  in  the  nation  as  in  the 
man  sacrifice  is  the  soil  and  seed  of  progress.  I  know  not 
why  it  is  in  the  providence  of  God  that  through  blood  — 
not  the  sacrifice  of  rams  and  goats,  but  the  blood  of  hu- 
man hearts  —  the  great  gains  of  human  freedom  have  had 
their  impulse,  unless  it  be  that  in  the  laws  of  growth,  as  in 
the  laws  of  light,  it  is  the  red  rays  that  are  strongest  and 
that  first  shine  through  and  flash  the  dawn,  foretelling  the 
pure  white  fire  of  the  uprising  sun.    But  this  we  do  know : 


78  MEMORIAL  DAY. 

/  that,  search  history  through,  and  you  shall  find  no  more 
/  heroic  record  of  self-sacrifice,  of  courage,  of  the  flower  of 
f  youth  giving  itself  to  death  for  right  and  country's  sake. 
Massachusetts  will  never  forget  the  memory  of  these  her 
martyrs.  Their  lives  are  insensibly  moulding  the  charac- 
ter of  her  children  at  school  or  by  fireside  even  while  the 
busy  man  of  years  and  of  affairs  may  almost  seem  to  have 
forgotten  them.  With  you  she  weeps  over  their  turf  and 
crowns  them  with  the  laurel  wreath. 

Yes,  why  was  it?     Why  do  we  recall  all  this?    Be- 
cause the  sacrifice  is  lost  in  the  consummation,  death  is 
swallowed  up  in  victory ;  because  it  was  not  a  nipped  bud 
but  the  full  flower,  not  a  life  cut  off,  but  a  life  rounded 
and  complete  ;  because  the  high  ideals,  the  lofty  purposes, 
the  forward-looking  ambition  to  be  of  service  in  the  world 
were  all  fulfilled,  not  defeated,  in  these  young  men.     If 
in  our  pride  of  conquest,  if  in  these  organizations  and 
festivals  our  purpose  were  simply  to  count  our  excess  of 
victories,  to  glory  in  superiority  of  endurance,  strength, 
and  numbers,  to  echo  the  gladiator's  roar  of  triumph,  to 
rake  from  the  dying  embers  flashes  of  the  stinging  fires  of 
hate,  it  were  worse  than  time  wasted.     It  was  no  fight  of 
men  with  men.    That  is  but  brutality.    It  was  the  eternal 
war  of  right  with  wrong,  which  is  divine  and  wreathes  an 
eternal  crown  of  glory  round  the  brow  of  the  conqueror. 
Our  foes  were  not  worth  beating  if    the  purpose  were 
simply  to  beat  them.    But  it  was  the  chastisement  of  love 
/  that  overthrew,  not  them,  but  the  false  gods  they  wor- 
/    shiped,  the  false   principles  they  obeyed,  and  that  gave 
/     to  them  and   secured  to  us  a  union  for  the  first  time 
founded  on  universal  freedom  and  equality.     And  so  it  is 
\     that  as  sometimes  a  brave  man  perils  and  loses  his  life 
\    that  he  may  save  that  of  a  little  child  or  even  of  a  foe,  so 


MEMORIAL  DAT.  79 

our  heroes  died  that  all  their  countrymen,  North  and 
South,  might  live  the  only  life  worth  living,  —  the  life  of 
free  men.  It  would  be  easy  to  say  that  the  late  war  dem- 
onstrated that  we  are  a  nation  of  soldiers  as  well  as  of  cit- 
izens, and  to  paint  the  laurels  which,  in  case  of  another, 
we  could  win  again  on  sea  and  land.  But  I  prefer  to  say 
that  the  result  is  a  united  country,  a  solid  South,  such  as 
it  soon  will  be,  only  because  at  last  and  forever  solidly 
identified  with  the  education,  the  business  growth,  the 
glowing  enterprise  of  the  North,  —  its  common  people 
taught  in  common  schools,  its  vast  fields  open  to  the  stim- 
ulating immigration  of  the  globe,  its  great  rivers  turning 
the  wheels  of  peaceful  and  prosperous  industries,  —  a 
united  country  that  counts  as  nothing  its  ability  to  fight 
the  world,  but  as  everything  its  ability  to  lead  the  world 
in  the  arts  of  peace,  secure  in  the  consciousness  rather 
than  in  the  exhibition  of  power,  and  cemented  not  by 
blood  but  by  ideas. 

This  is  our  triumph,  —  not  that  we  overthrew  a  brave 
though  ignorant,  provincial,  misguided  foe,  stunted  by  the 
barbarism  of  slavery,  but  that  we  have  forever  established 
in  fact  the  principle  that  all  men  are  bom  free  and  equal; 
have  destroyed  the  doctrine  of  caste;  have  proved  the 
stability  and  permanence  of  a  government  of  the  people ; 
have  consolidated  our  heterogeneous  population  and  made 
them  all  of  one  birth  and  kin,  so  that  the  names  of  our 
fallen  dead  no  longer,  like  those  on  the  Lexington  column, 
are  all  patronymics  of  pure  New  England  stock,  but,  as 
you  may  now  read  them  on  the  later  shafts  throughout 
the  commonwealth,  represent  every  nationality,  each  blend- 
ing in  the  one  common  destiny  of  the  American  republic. 
We  have  confirmed  the  policy  of  honesty  in  financial  ad- 
ministration, of  keeping  good  the  nation's  promise,  and  of 


80  MEMORIAL  DAY. 

giving  its  people  an  honest  dollar.  We  have  struck  the 
shackles  from  the  feet  of  the  slave  and  from  the  soul  of 
his  master.  We  have  let  loose  the  energies,  the  mighty 
energies  of  a  free  people,  which  are  turning  this  great  do- 
main into  a  hive  of  industry  and  prosperity,  girting  it 
with  bands  of  iron  rails,  and  disemboweling  its  mines  of 
gold  and  silver  and  more  precious  ores.  Best  of  all,  we 
have  emancipated  the  prodigal  States  themselves  from  the 
swineherd's  thraldom,  and  put  rings  on  their  hands  and 
shoes  on  their  feet,  allowing  them  to  justly  share  but  never 
more  to  domineer.  It  was  General  Greene,  of  our  neigh- 
bor Rhode  Island,  who  a  hundred  years  ago  led  South 
Carolina  to  victory  in  the  War  for  Independence.  It  was 
General  Lincoln,  of  our  own  Massachusetts,  who  received 
the  sword  of  Cornwallis  at  Yorktown,  in  the  same  good 
cause.  Since  then.  South  Carolina  and  Virginia,  false  to 
that  cause,  have  struck  their  flags  to  the  men  of  Rhode 
Island  and  Massachusetts  who  held  them  to  their  better 
duty.  They  will  not  repeat  that  mistake.  Within  this 
month,  at  the  centennial  celebration  at  Cowpens,  it  was 
Colonel  Higginson,  a  representative  of  the  Massachusetts 
Executive,  who  spoke  for  New  England  on  the  same  plat- 
form with  General  Hampton,  whose  slaves,  less  than 
twenty  years  ago,  the  colonel  had  armed  against  this  their 
master,  in  the  cause  of  their  own  liberty.  And  both  struck 
the  same  high  note  of  freedom,  of  progress,  of  the  new  era 
of  a  higher  destiny.  In  October  next,  the  soldiers  of  the 
North  will  again  encamp  at  Yorktown.  But  it  wiU  be  to 
celebrate,  not  the  slaughters  of  the  Peninsula  campaign, 
but  the  hundredth  anniversary  of  the  achievement  of 
American  Independence.  On  that  day,  the  President  of 
the  Union  and  the  representatives  of  every  State  in  it  will 
look  back  over  the  century  and  pay  tribute  to  its  sacri- 


MEMORIAL  DAY.  81 

fices  and  its  triumphs.  But  with  faces  on  which  no  shadow 
will  fall,  they  will  turn  anon  and  look  forward  for  centu- 
ries to  come  upon  the  more  glorious  fraternal  progress  of 
the  future.  It  has  been  said  that  it  would  be  better  to 
blot  out  this  day  and  with  it  every  recollection  of  the  past 
it  commemorates.  I  believe  it  is  better  to  keep  the  day 
and  to  forget  nothing  of  the  past,  if  so  on  both  sides  we 
make  the  past  a  lesson  for  the  future,  and  out  of  its  very 
nettle  of  horror  and  danger  pluck  the  flower  of  safety. 
The  mere  man  you  fought  is  naught,  and  it  is  indeed  bet- 
ter to  forgive  and  forget  him.  But  the  victory  you  won 
over  him  was  the  victory  of  principle,  and  is  eternal. 
Proud  may  you  be  indeed  to  keep  it  known  that  you  share 
and  transmit  its  glory ;  that,  having  as  soldiers  saved  the 
republic,  as  citizens  you  perpetuate  it;  that  you  recall  a 
youth  not  lost  but  made  immortal.  Proud,  too,  the  Com- 
monwealth of  such  sons ;  secure  in  their  hands  alike  in 
peace  or  war ;  her  motto  still.  The  quietude  of  peace 

WITH   LIBERTY   BUT   ELSE  THE   SWORD. 

In  that  Commonwealth,  her  very  soil  rich  with  ashes  of 
heroes  and  giants,  fitting  it  is  that  you  should  not  limit 
the  honors  you  bestow  this  day  to  the  graves  only  of  the 
recent  dead,  but  should  extend  them  to  the  dead  who  for 
two  hundred  and  fifty  years  have  been,  by  force  of  their 
indelible  impress,  the  real  life,  transcending  ours,  of  Mas- 
sachusetts. And  fitting  it  is  that  I,  echoing  their  senti- 
ment and  yours,  the  sentiment  that  never  was  ungenerous 
or  narrow,  should  speak  no  word  that  is  not  liberal,  no 
thought  that  is  not  national,  no  hope  of  future  good  that 
is  not  as  broad  as  our  common  country,  or  that  does  not 
embrace  the  happiness  of  every  citizen,  whatever  his  color 
or  birth,  whatever  his  faith  or  toil,  whatever  his  section 
or  estate.     For  we   commemorate   to-day  not  more   the 


82  MEMORIAL  DAY. 

heroism  of  tlie  past  than  the  common  weal  of  the  present, 
—  the  equality  of  citizenship,  in  honor  commanding  re- 
spect, in  duty  commanding  service. 

As  I  look,  veterans,  upon  your  faces,  your  thinner  ranks, 
your  brows  on  which  time  is  writing  in  plainer  lines  its 
autograph,  true,  indeed,  I  know  it  is  that  the  number  of 
the  survivors  is  fast  diminishing,  and  that  with  the  close 
of  the  century  few  wiU  remain.  But  they  will  all  still 
live  in  the  works  that  do  follow  them,  —  in  a  civilization 
better  because  purified  by  the  searching  fire  of  war  from 
the  dross  of  human  slavery  and  political  inequality,  and 
in  a  country  lifted  up  to  a  higher  plane  of  justice,  mercy, 
and  righteousness.  They  will  live,  too,  in  history,  —  in 
the  history  of  a  patriotic  people,  pictured  in  pages  more 
graphic  than  those  of  Plutarch  or  Macaulay,  in  the  songs 
of  poets  who  shall  sing  a  nobler  than  Virgil's  man,  and 
an  epic  loftier  than  the  Iliad.  They  wiU  live,  too,  in 
these  monuments  of  stone  and  bronze  which  we  erect  not 
more  to  their  memory  than  to  the  incitement  and  educa- 
tion of  coming  generations.  It  might  be  said  that  we  are 
now  in  our  monumental  age.  The  towering  obelisk  at 
Bunker  Hill,  the  homely  pillar  on  Lexington  Green,  are 
no  longer  the  only  columns  that  write  in  granite  the  record 
of  our  glory.  At  Plymouth,  the  colossal  figure  of  Faith, 
looking  out  over  the  sea,  catching  from  its  horizon  the 
first  tints  of  the  morning,  and  guarding  the  graves  of  the 
Pilgrims,  proclaims  to  the  world  the  story  of  the  May- 
flower and  its  precious  freight  of  civil  and  religious 
liberty.  Across  the  bay  rises  almost  to  completion  the 
plain  but  solid  shaft  that  marks  the  home  of  Miles  Stand- 
ish,  that  sturdy  type  of  courage  and  independence  in  life 
and  faith  which  has  been  multiplied  in  New  England  in 
every  phase  of  its  thought  and  culture.    In  Boston,  before 


MEMORIAL  DAY.  88 

the  State  House,  Webster,  defender  of  the  Constitution, 
and  Mann,  the  promoter  of  public  education.  Before  its 
City  Hall,  Franklin,  the  most  prolific  and  comprehensive 
brain  in  American  history,  and  Quincy,  a  noble  name  in 
Massachusetts  for  generation  after  generation.  In  its 
public  squares,  Winthrop,  the  Puritan  founder,  Sam 
Adams,  true  leader  of  the  people,  and  Abraham  Lincoln, 
emancipator  of  the  grateful  race  that  kneels  enfranchised 
at  his  feet.  In  its  Public  Garden,  the  equestrian  statue 
of  Father  Washington,  the  figure  of  Charles  Sumner,  and 
the  uplifted  arm  of  Everett.  And  in  its  avenues,  Hamil- 
ton, the  youthful  founder  of  our  national  finance,  and  John 
Glover,  colonel  of  the  Marblehead  regiment,  whose  lusty 
arms  and  oars  rescued  Washington  from  Long  Island. 
At  Mount  Auburn,  James  Otis,  that  flame  of  fire.  At 
Lexington,  Hancock  and  Adams.  At  Concord,  the  em- 
battled farmer.  In  Hingham,  in  marble  pure  as  his  own 
heroic  instincts,  that  war  governor,  who  in  the  heart  of 
the  Massachusetts  soldier  can  never  be  disassociated  from 
the  sympathies  and  martyrdom  of  the  service  which  he 
shared  with  you  even  to  his  life.  And  now,  in  Chelsea, 
the  national  flag,  floating  out  its  bright  and  rippling  cheer 
from  the  year's  beginning  to  its  end,  waves  over  the 
Soldiers'  Home,  which  has  been  secured  by  your  contribu- 
tions, so  that  if  haply  there  be  one  needy  veteran  whom 
the  magnificent  and  unparalleled  provision  of  Massachu- 
setts fails,  as  all  general  laws  must,  in  some  rare  cases, 
fail  to  reach,  there  he  may  find  a  shelter  that  shall  not 
dishonor  him.  Time  and  your  patience  would  fail  an 
enumeration  of  the  monuments  which,  within  a  few  years,  / 
have  dotted  the  State,  and  in  whose  massive  handwriting 
the  century  is  recording  for  centuries  hence  its  story  of 
heroism,  so  plain,  so  legible,  that  though  a  new  Babel 


84  MEMORIAL  DAY. 

should  arise,  and  the  English  tongue  be  lost,  the  human 
heart  and  eye  will  still  read  it  at  a  glance.  Scarce  a 
town  is  there  —  from  Boston,  with  its  magnificent  column 
crowned  with  the  statue  of  America,  at  the  dedication  of 
which  even  the  conquered  Southron  came  to  pay  honor, 
to  the  humblest  stone  in  rural  villages  —  in  which  these 
monuments  do  not  rise  summer  and  winter,  in  snow  and 
sun,  day  and  night,  to  tell  how  universal  was  the  response 
of  Massachusetts  to  the  call  of  the  patriots'  duty,  whether 
it  rang  above  the  city's  din  or  broke  the  quiet  of  the  farm. 
On  city  square  and  village  green  stand  the  graceful  figures 
of  student,  clerk,  mechanic,  farmer,  in  that  endeared  and 
never-to-be-forgotten  war  uniform  of  the  soldier  or  the 
sailor,  their  stern  young  faces  to  the  front,  still  on  guard, 
watching  the  work  they  wrought  in  the  flesh,  and  teach- 
ing, in  eloquent  silence,  the  lesson  of  the  citizen's  duty 
to  the  state.  How  our  children  will  study  these !  How 
they  will  search  and  read  their  names  !  How  quaint  and 
antique  to  them  will  seem  their  arms  and  costume !  How 
they  will  gather  and  store  up  in  their  minds  the  fine,  in- 
sensibly filtering  percolation  of  the  sentiment  of  valor,  of 
loyalty,  of  fight  for  right,  of  resistance  against  wrong, 
just  as  we  inherited  all  this  from  the  Revolutionary  era, 
so  that,  when  some  crisis  shall  in  the  future  come  to  them, 
as  it  came  to  us,  they  will  spring  to  the  rescue,  as  sprang 
our  youth  in  the  beauty  and  chivalry  of  the  consciousness 
of  a  noble  descent. 

During  the  late  Turco-Russian  war,  I  passed  an  evening 
in  a  modest  home  in  a  quiet  country  town.  It  was  a  wild 
night.  The  family  circle  sat  by  the  open  fire  of  a  New 
England  sitting-room.  They  told  me  of  a  son  of  that 
house,  a  young  man  already  known  in  literature  and  art, 
who,  full  of  the  spirit  of  adventure,  was  at  that  moment, 


MEMORIAL  DAY.  85 

as  war  correspondent  of  a  great  London  daily,  with  the 
head  of  the  Russian  army  in  Bulgaria.  They  read  me 
his  letters,  in  which  he  interwove  affectionate  inquiries 
and  memories  of  home  with  vivid  descriptions  of  battles, 
of  wounds,  of  Turkish  barbarities,  of  desolated  villages, 
of  murdered  and  mutilated  peasants,  of  long  marches 
through  worse  than  Virginian  mud,  of  wild  bivouac  in 
rain  and  tempest,  of  stirring  incidents  of  the  Russian 
camp,  of  the  thousand  shifting  scenes  of  the  theatre  of  a 
campaign,  till  suddenly  that  quiet  room  in  which  we  sat 
was  transfigured,  and  we,  snug-sheltered  from  the  storm, 
were  apace  translated  over  the  sea  into  the  very  stir  and 
toss  of  the  war,  our  sympathies,  our  hopes,  our  interests, 
our  very  selves  all  there. 

And  so  it  is  with  us  always.  Shut  up  within  ourselves, 
our  minds  intent  on  nothing  but  the  narrow  limits  of  im- 
mediate place  and  time,  our  hearts  and  fists  closing  tighter 
on  our  little  own,  we  shrivel  like  dry  leaves.  But  let  the 
thrill  of  that  common  humanity  electrify  us  which  links 
together  all  men,  all  time  past,  present,  and  to  come,  and 
we  spring  into  the  upper  air.  When  we  do  these  honors 
to  the  deserving  dead,  when  we  revive  not  alone  the  fact 
but  the  ideal  of  their  service,  we  strike  a  chord  that  forever 
binds  us  and  the  world  around  us  with  all  great  heroisms, 
with  all  great  causes  and  sacrifices,  with  the  throb  of  that 
loftier  moral  atmosphere  which  is  lost  only  in  the  unison 
of  man's  immortal  soul  with  the  soul  of  God  the  Father. 


ADDRESS 

At  a  Meeting  in  Faneuil  Hall,  Boston,  for  the  Relief  of 
THE  Sufferers  in  Johnstown,  Pa.,  June  4,  1889. 

We  have  met  in  Faneuil  Hall  to  consider,  and,  I  trust, 
to  act  upon,  the  most  appalling  sudden  disaster  that  has 
befallen  any  portion  of  the  people  of  the  United  States. 
Ten  thousand  men,  women,  little  children,  —  our  country- 
men, our  fellow  human  beings,  akin  to  you  and  me  by 
the  passionate  ties  of  human  suffering  and  human  sym- 
pathy, only  yesterday  busy  and  thrifty  dwellers  in  a  happy 
valley  in  the  mountains  of  Pennsylvania,  have  been  liter- 
ally swallowed  up  by  the  deluge,  burned  by  the  relentless 
flame,  their  homes  actually  blotted  from  the  face  of  the 
earth,  their  families  scattered,  never  to  reunite,  their 
charred  bodies  tossed  broadcast  or  in  heaps,  while  the 
survivors  are  left  with  broken  hearts,  sobbing  through 
their  tears,  in  the  agonizing  search  to  find  the  dead  body 
of  father,  or  mother,  or  child,  or  little  babe.  Where  but 
a  day  ago  there  was  plenty,  where  there  was  comfortable 
shelter,  where  there  was  every  provision,  where  honest 
labor  was  earning  a  generous  return,  to-day  gaunt  famine 
stalks,  children  are  crying  for  food  and  seeking  shelter 
from  the  cold  and  the  rain;  and  this  paradise  of  labor 
has  no  vestige  left  except  its  own  ruins  and  its  ghastly 
population  of  corpses.  Why,  the  heart  gasps  in  speech- 
less horror  at  such  a  scene  as  this,  which  breaks  upon  the 
even  tenor  of  our  general  national  felicity.  No  words  can 
describe  it,  and  well  it  is  they  cannot,  for  the  question 
now  is,  not  what  shall  we  say,  but  what  shall  we  do. 


JOHNSTOWN.  87 

As  I  came  in  it  struck  me  that  there  are  two  great 
overwhelming  feelings  that  come  over  one  at  such  a  time 
as  this.  One  is  the  thought  of  the  utter  insignificance  of 
this  human  body,  this  man,  this  pigmy  creature  that  struts 
and  frets  for  his  hour,  and  yet  at  one  convulsion  of  the 
dead  clod  on  which  he  walks,  and  which  he  spurns  under 
his  foot,  at  one  freak  of  those  mighty  natural  forces  which 
play  with  him  and  then  in  an  unguarded  moment  tear 
him,  at  one  breath  of  Almighty  God,  is  tossed  like  a  leaf 
and  flung  like  an  atom  in  a  dust  heap.  But  the  next 
thought  and  the  greater  thought,  thanks  to  the  same 
Almighty  power,  is  the  significance  and  the  value  and  the 
worth  of  the  human  soul.  The  floods  and  deluge  may 
break  their  bonds  and  carry  ruin  in  their  track;  yet 
though  they  devastate  the  valley  and  the  hillside  and  re- 
move mountains,  if  they  do  but  so  much  as  touch  one  of 
God's  little  ones ;  if  but  a  sparrow  of  a  babe  do  fall  under 
their  ruin ;  if,  as  in  a  case  like  this,  there  is  a  holocaust 
of  men  and  women  like  ourselves  and  like  those  whom  we 
hold  dear,  then  there  speeds  a  thrill  that  is  finer  than  any 
electric  force  which  nature  supplies.  It  is  the  thrill  of 
the  human  heart.  A  chord,  that  reaches  through  angels' 
hearts  to  the  heart  of  God  himseK,  is  touched.  Then  any 
cry  of  human  suffering,  be  it  ever  so  faint,  is  heard  above 
the  roar  of  the  mighty  waters,  and  above  the  fury  of  the 
hissing  flames;  and  then,  too,  the  glad  answer  of  relief 
is  also  heard  echoing  back  in  helpful  response.  Then  it 
is  that  man  becomes  mightier  than  nature,  because  man  is 
master  of  matter ;  and  we  are  taught,  as  perhaps  nothing 
but  such  an  awful  calamity  as  this  could  teach  us,  we  are 
taught  our  common  humanity,  —  shall  I  not  say  we  are 
taught  our  common  divinity,  of  course  our  common  citi- 
zenship and  brotherhood,  and  our  common  obligations  to 


88  JOHNSTOWN. 

those  wlio  now  are  not  so  mucli  our  countrymen  as  they 
are  our  brothers,  our  sisters,  in  suffering. 

It  is  in  that  spirit  that  this  meeting  is  called.  It  is  in 
that  spirit  that  you  all  have  responded  to-day.  It  is  in 
that  spirit  that  the  men  and  women  of  good,  old,  generous 
Boston,  heart  of  Massachusetts,  her  merchants,  her  work- 
ing men  and  women,  those  who  have  much  and  those  who 
have  little,  have  come  together  to  unite  to  carry  succor 
and  sympathy  and  help  to  these  sufferers  at  Johnstown, 
—  food  for  the  hungry,  clothing  for  the  naked,  shelter 
for  the  homeless,  and  a  balm  for  the  wounds  of  those  on 
whom  the  most  awful  calamity  of  the  century  has  just 
fallen. 


RESPONSE 

At  the  Universalists'  Social  Union  Banquet,  at  the  Revere 
House,  Boston,  May  29, 1885. 

If  any  one  will  tell  me  the  difference  between  Uni- 
versalism  and  Unitarianism,  I  shall  be  able,  as  I  am  not 
now,  to  see  why  I  may  not  claim  a  seat  at  your  denomina- 
tional banquet  as  a  matter  of  right  and  of  membership 
in  your  faith,  if  not  in  your  club.  Your  firm  name  is 
a  little  broader  and  more  comprehensive,  —  comprehen- 
sive enough,  Dr.  Miner  will  allow,  to  include  even  a  poor, 
despised  Republican.  You  have  monopolized  the  most 
generous  word  in  the  English  language.  But  when  it 
comes  to  the  essentials,  —  to  the  fatherhood  of  God  and 
the  brotherhood  of  man,  —  to  the  doctrine  of  the  ultimate 
holiness  and  happiness  of  all  God's  children,  —  to  the 
faith  that  there  is  a  better  life  for  us  all,  not  only  worth 
having,  but  to  be  had  here  and  hereafter,  if  striven  for,  — 
in  all  these  things  we  stand  on  a  common  platform.  And, 
between  you  and  me,  the  whole  intelligent  world  is  coming 
to  stand  there,  too,  without  much  other  distinction  of  sect 
than  so  far  as  relates  to  the  fashion  of  the  mould,  the 
extent  of  the  ritual,  the  mere  form  of  expression.  The 
recent  conference  of  churches  at  Hartford  is  a  recognition 
of  two  things :  first,  that  the  old-time  doctrinal  differences 
are  pretty  well  obliterated,  preserved  only  in  the  lingual 
ruts  of  words  which  keep  half  alive  the  husk  of  a  term 
long  after  its  meaning  has  evaporated ;  and,  second,  that 
the  Christian  church  has  now  enough  to  do  in  maintaining 


90  THE  UNI  VERS  ALISTS. 

against  the  world  those  fundamentals  of  Christianity  on 
which  all  sects  agree,  without  wasting  its  energies  in  the 
wrangles  of  its  own  subdivisions. 

I  am  told  to-day  that  it  is  just  a  hundred  years  since,  in 
1785,  the  first  convention  of  Universalist  ministers  and 
parishes  was  held,  thus  constituting  the  germ  of  your 
present  general  convention.  During  that  time  what 
growth  have  you  not  had;  what  missionary  work  have 
you  not  done  ;  where  have  you  not  carried  the  banner  of 
your  liberal  faith;  in  what  corner  of  the  country  have 
you  not  dropped  the  seed  of  your  church,  your  colleges, 
your  academies,  your  literature,  —  multiplying  a  hundred 
fold  their  influence  not  only  within  but  outside  of  your 
strict  denominational  lines?  With  what  philanthropy 
and  reform  have  you  not  been  associated?  In  view  of 
these  things,  there  are  certainly  two  reasons  why  we  of 
the  laity  should  be  glad  to  sit  at  your  festival.  In  the 
first  place,  it  gives  us  an  opportunity  to  pay  the  respect 
we  so  cordially  feel  to  the  body  of  the  clergy  who,  no 
longer  relying  on  the  artificial  stagings  of  the  ministerial 
office,  or  of  an  establishment,  stand  for  the  truths  of 
Christian  faith  and  Christian  morals,  and  are  stiU  the 
unfailing  fountain  of  good  influences  and  good  teaching. 
There  are  black  sheep  in  every  flock,  even  among  the 
laity,  but  when  I  think  of  the  great  body  of  the  ministry 
of  all  sects,  of  their  devotion  to  the  work  of  making  the 
world  better,  of  their  stimulus  to  a  higher  and  diviner 
life,  of  their  toil  and  sacrifice,  of  the  usually  smaU  return 
to  them  of  the  good  things  of  this  world,  and  of  their 
faithful  service  these  many  years,  I  am  happy  to  add  my 
small  voice  in  appreciation  of  their  beneficence.  For  I 
find  them  identified  with  the  cause  of  education  in  its 
broadest  sense,  cherishing  the  schools,  promoting  temper- 


THE  UNIVERSALISTS.  91 

ance,  searching  out  the  unfortunate  and  poor,  dispensing 
charity,  the  almoners  of  sympathy,  and,  after  all,  still  as 
of  yore,  one  of  the  strong  reliances  of  our  New  England 
system. 

In  the  second  place,  this  festival  occasion,  bringing 
together  the  clergy  and  the  laity,  suggests  what  is,  in- 
deed, the  main  thing,  —  the  fact  that  our  interest  is  a 
common  one.  You  of  the  clergy  are  not  of  one  jurisdic- 
tion, and  we  of  the  laity  of  another.  We  are  all  of  the 
same  fold,  only  with  convenient  subdivisions  of  labor. 
These  days,  like  all  days  in  the  history  of  mankind  here- 
tofore and  forevermore,  are  crucial  and  decisive  days. 
The  problem  of  life  is  never  solved,  and  yet  the  method 
of  its  solution  is  as  plain  as  daylight.  And  that  method 
is  progress,  progress,  progress,  —  progress  in  physical  and 
material  circumstance,  in  intellectual  enlargement  and 
force,  in  moral  sentiment,  in  aesthetic  refinement,  in  per- 
sonal character.  To  all  these  our  religious  faith  and  cul- 
ture are  the  in-and-through  running  thread  that  makes 
their  fibre.  The  school,  the  church,  the  press,  —  in  short, 
every  institution  of  modern  progTess  is  an  agency  in  their 
development.  But  close  at  their  heels  sweeps  the  threat- 
ening tide  of  demoralization  and  rot  and  sin  and  shame 
and  vice  and  misery,  and  the  issue  is  always  the  same, 
whether  the  Red  Sea  shall  swallow  all  up,  or  the  Promised 
Land  be  reached.  It  is  a  conflict  that  at  once  stirs  to  the 
most  heroic  endeavor,  and  at  the  same  time  promises  the 
reward  of  the  truest  and  noblest  victory.  And  it  is  be- 
cause this  occasion  and  this  outlet  of  your  denominational 
zeal  command  clergy  and  laity  to  one  common  duty  in  this 
respect,  that  it  is  fitting  we  should  thus  gather  together  in 
consecration  anew  to  the  keeping  of  the  faith  and  the 
fighting  of  the  good  fight. 


92  THE  UNIVERSALISTS. 

Personally,  I  am  happy  to  be  here.  I  recall  my  ac- 
quaintance during  my  public  and  private  life  with  so 
many  of  your  representative  men  and  women.  I  recall 
the  June  Commencement  days  and  the  spreading  tent  at 
Tufts  Hill,  where  Capen  teaches,  and  where  I  still  seem 
to  hear  the  sonorous  voice  and  see  the  front  lock  fluttered 
by  the  breeze  on  the  forehead  of  Israel  Washburn.  I 
recall  the  ministrations  in  the  town  of  my  own  residence 
of  Brother  Livermore,  and  the  inspiration  now  and  then 
of  the  eloquence,  or  better  than  eloquence,  the  wisdom,  of 
his  wife,  that  evangel  of  good  teaching,  Mary  Livermore. 
I  recall  the  hard  blows,  some  of  which  I  have  had  to  take, 
but  with  many  of  which  I  cordially  sympathize,  of  that 
fearless  champion  whom  I  always  name  with  respect.  Dr. 
Miner.  I  recall  from  out  of  my  earliest  recollection  the 
voice  of  Streeter,  and,  in  later  youth,  the  declamation  of 
Chapin.  And  especially  do  I  look  back  to  the  sunrise  of 
my  own  life,  and  the  religious  instruction  of  my  child- 
hood, —  the  little  Maine  village  nestling  in  the  hills ;  the 
only  meeting-house  in  it  a  Universalist  house  of  wor- 
ship ;  the  constant  if  not  brilliant  elder  who  eked  out  the 
shadow,  or  rather  the  shadow  of  a  shadow,  of  a  salary, 
by  keeping  the  winter  school  and  grubbing  the  small 
parochial  acre ;  the  unpainted  pews ;  the  open  windows 
(for  in  my  memory  it  was  unending  summer  time)  through 
which  my  eyes  went  always  wandering ;  the  drowsy  hum 
outside  of  insect  life,  more  slumberous  even  than  the 
preacher's  voice  ;  the  still  dreamier  haze  of  an  atmosphere 
of  eternal  sunshine  veiling  the  sky  and  tempering  the 
lights  and  shadows  on  the  hills  and  fields ;  the  hard- 
working farmers  who,  in  clean  Sunday  cotton,  sat  in  their 
shirt  sleeves,  closing  their  eyes,  not  in  irreverence,  but  in 
a  sacred  rest  that  I  am  sure  was  entirely  acceptable  to  the 


THE  UNIVERSALISTS.  93 

Good  Father ;  and  all  the  rural  and  now  so  tender  memo- 
ries of  that  day.  Ah,  my  friends,  when  so  much  of  the 
poetry  of  life  is  in  its  memories,  in  the  associations  of 
childhood,  in  the  search  for  the  red  strawberry  and  the 
yellow  buttercup,  is  it  not  something  that  we  of  New 
England,  we  of  country  birth,  we  of  these  kindly  liberal 
faiths,  can  recall  our  Scripture,  our  Sunday-school  lessons, 
our  Bible  verses,  our  sacred  songs,  our  Sabbath  hymns, 
and  the  whole  aroma  of  our  early  religious  lore  from  the 
resources  of  a  faith  that  is  inspired  by  the  sunshine  of 
God's  universal  love,  by  the  hope  and  not  the  terror  of 
his  judgment,  by  the  ultimate  holiness  and  not  the  ulti- 
mate degradation,  the  redemption,  not  the  casting  out,  the 
unity,  not  the  separation  here  or  hereafter,  of  all  his 
children,  —  weak  in  their  shortcomings,  but  immortal  in 
their  aspirations. 


ADDKESS 

To  THE  Colored  Veterans  in  the  Hingham  Cemetery, 
August  2,  1887. 

I  WISH  I  had  the  power  to  utter  the  inexpressible  emo- 
tions I  feel  in  the  presence  of  these  representatives  of  a 
race  which  was  the  cause  of  the  war,  yet  not  by  any  means 
the  least  potent  and  patriotic  influence  in  bringing  it  to  a 
successful  close.  It  is  a  scene  which  touches  the  heart, 
and  revives  sacred  memories.  We  can  feel,  but  we  can- 
not utter  them.  Mine  is  a  lighter  duty,  the  duty  in  be- 
half of  the  town  of  Hingham,  where  Governor  Andrew 
made  his  summer  home,  to  welcome  you  to  this  spot  in 
which  he  lies  buried.  You  have  come  with  tender  and 
loving  regard  to  decorate  his  grave.  The  skies  yesterday 
shone  upon  you  in  the  gladness  of  your  reunion.  They 
are  not  false  to-day ;  they  only  mingle  their  tears  with 
yours  over  this  sacred  soil. 

If  he  could  rise  from  it,  if  he  were  here, —  if,  indeed, 
he  be  not  here,  —  think  for  a  moment  on  what  his  eyes 
would  rest.  Surely  he  would  behold  more,  infinitely  more 
than  even  his  fervid  and  hopeful  enthusiasm — that  enthu- 
siasm which  inspired  the  Commonwealth,  inspired  the 
country,  and  inspired  you  —  ever  pictured  or  dared  to 
forecast.  For  he  would  behold  these  representatives  of 
the  millions  of  a  race  who  were  in  bondage  only  a  genera- 
tion ago,  but  among  whom  to-day,  thanks  to  him,  thanks 
to  men  like  him,  thanks  to  yourselves,  no  fetter  clanks 
through  the  length  and  breadth  of  the  land.     He  would 


COLORED  VETERANS.  95 

behold  them,  not  merely  redeemed  from  bondage,  but 
citizens,  like  himself,  of  our  great  republic,  endowed  by 
constitutional  amendment  with  full  right  of  suffrage,  hold- 
ing state  and  national  office,  members  of  Congress,  grad- 
uates of  our  schools  and  universities,  leaders  of  public 
opinion,  ranking  in  the  professions,  gaining  in  the  accu- 
mulation of  wealth  in  the  very  States  where,  twenty-five 
years  ago,  they  were  under  the  yoke,  and  thus  destined  to 
become  a  conservative  force  in  the  future  of  our  national 
Hfe. 

Best  of  all  is  this,  that  they  have  arrived  in  this  short 
time  to  such  measure  that  the  only  word  which  seems  un- 
fitting at  this  time  is  the  word  which  in  any  way  refers 
to  them  as  a  separate  or  distinctive  people,  or  as  anything 
else  than  American  citizens. 

The  great  heart  that  has  crumbled  into  ashes  here 
would  never  have  been  satisfied  with  any  narrower  desig- 
nation than  that.  Ah !  my  friends,  how  that  heart  beat 
for  you !  Its  consecration  to  you  illuminated  his  face,  it 
made  his  tongue  ring  like  a  bugle,  it  made  his  pen  fire, 
and  his  will  iron.  Never,  indeed,  will  you  forget  John 
Albion  Andrew.  You  were  his  friends,  and  he  laid  down 
his  life  for  you.  He  did  his  work,  he  kept  the  faith,  he 
fought  the  fight,  he  finished  the  course.  If  I  might  in- 
trude any  word  on  you,  it  would  be,  that  your  flowers, 
however  fragrant,  your  songs,  however  sweet,  are  not  the 
best  tribute  of  this  hour ;  your  tears,  however  quick,  nor 
your  eloquence,  however  fervid.  But  you  owe  him  this,  — 
to  go  on  in  that  same  faith  and  fight  and  course  in  which 
he  led  and  in  which  you  have  followed,  relying  no  longer 
on  exterior  help,  relying  upon  your  own  souls,  the  value 
of  each  of  which  he  recognized  and  the  whole  war  was 
fought  for,  —  to  go  on  fulfilling  the  faith,  the  fight,  the 


96  COLORED  VETERANS. 

course  of  the  true  man,  tlie  free  citizen,  the  self -poised, 
seK-reliant,  self-respecting,  self-ennobling  son  of  God, 
mastering  your  opportunities,  enlarging  your  education, 
and  still  marching  on,  even  as  the  soul  of  John  Brown 
goes  marching  on. 


RESPONSE 

At  the  Commencement  Dinner  at  Harvard  College,  June 
29,  1881. 

I  TAKE  it,  Mr.  President,  that  the  true  end  of  a  good 
State  is  to  so  help  its  people  and  its  institutions  as  quick- 
est to  enable  them  to  take  care  of  themselves.  This  result 
has  certainly  been  achieved  in  respect  to  Harvard,  which 
now  not  only  stands  alone,  but  has  achieved  its  best 
work  in  its  present  condition  of  entire  independence.  In 
kindly  pursuance  of  an  ancient  courtesy,  the  governor  of 
the  Commonwealth  is  indeed  called  up  at  your  annual 
board  to  respond  in  her  behalf.  But  I  know  that  the 
time  has  come  when  it  is  only  to  do  these  three  things : 
first,  still  in  pursuance  of  the  ancient  custom,  to  exhibit  to 
you  the  subdued  glitter  of  his  staff  and  the  red  coats  of 
the  Lancers;  second,  to  bring  you  her  congratulations, 
her  expression  of  confidence  in  your  present  work,  and 
her  thanks  for  your  great  contributions  to  education  and 
patriotism  ;  and,  third,  to  join  with  you  in  extending  a 
welcome  to  the  guests  who  come  from  foreign  lands  or 
from  sister  States,  and,  let  me  add,  at  this  time,  —  may 
such  another  occasion  not  soon  occur, —  to  join  in  your 
regret  at  the  separation  from  Harvard  of  that  beloved 
pastor,  who  has  reflected  not  more  credit  upon  the  college 
than  upon  the  Commonwealth.  If  it  happens,  as  it  does 
to-day,  that  her  representative  is  also  one  of  your  own 
graduates,  not  only  does  he  do  this  duty  with  a  warm  per- 
sonal interest,  but  the  comparison  which  his  own  memory 


98  HARVARD. 

enables  him  to  make  between  the  spirit  and  the  work  of 
this  university,  as  it  was  and  as  it  is,  is  itself  an  enthusias- 
tic tribute  to  its  recent  progress  and  increased  beneficence. 
Time  was,  as  perhaps  it  always  must  be,  when  almost  the 
only  inspiration  was  in  the  student's  heart.  Whatever 
came  to  him  came,  as  perhaps  must  always  be  the  case, 
more  as  an  incident  than  as  a  result.  But  now,  surely, 
the  people  of  the  Commonwealth  have  a  satisfaction,  never 
greater  than  to-day,  in  the  bearing  and  fruit  of  Harvard, 
because,  under  its  present  administration,  it  is  lifted  out 
of  those  ruts  which  are  never  a  thing  of  the  past,  but 
which  grow  every  year  like  the  wrinkles  on  the  horn  of 
an  ox ;  and  because  it  is  under  a  leader  who  has  made  the 
■college  felt  in  every  fibre  of  the  life  of  the  state,  and  who 
from  the  outer  world,  which  constantly  owes  something  to 
his  voice  and  suggestion,  draws  also  back  still  more  to 
freshen  and  fit  the  youth  of  Harvard  for  the  world's  work. 
The  whole  cause  of  education  is  strengthened.  The  whole 
domain  of  youth  is  enlarged.  The  scholar  is  indeed  made 
a  power.  President  Eliot  in  thus  recognizing  the  broader 
needs  and  the  best  elements  of  that  body  of  the  people, 
which  is  Massachusetts,  pays  them,  if  an  unconscious,  yet 
a  just,  tribute.  And  they  in  turn  pay  him  the  tribute  of 
their  appreciation.  If  he  were  in  the  political  arena,  I 
am  quite  sure  he  would  afford  that  combination,  referred 
to  by  the  young  orator  of  the  morning,  whose  theme  was 
the  eighth  President  of  the  United  States, — the  combina- 
tion of  intellectual  strength  and  skill  in  affairs. 

For  the  Commonwealth  no  response  is  needed,  certainly 
not  in  this  presence  of  her  sons,  who  are  themselves  her 
best  response.  The  pessimists,  who  always  go  mad  with 
the  summer  heats  or  possibly  now  at  the  approach  of  the 
comet,  who  always  find  so  much  to  criticise  in  the  spots 


HARVARD.  99 

on  the  sun  that  they  make  the  sun  itself  a  failure,  and 
who  draw  all  their  saws  and  instances  from  that  metropo- 
lis from  which  you,  sir,  are  glad  to  escape  now  and  then 
to  the  purer  air  of  Massachusetts,  would  find  their  occu- 
pation gone,  were  they  to  take  up  their  abode  in  her  bor- 
ders. Corruption  may  stalk,  but  not  in  her  legislative 
halls.  Money  may  buy  offices,  but  has  not  yet  bought 
hers ;  indeed  the  income  of  her  officials  is  less  than  that 
of  the  average  college  professor.  The  price  of  her  judi- 
ciary is  at  least  above  rubies,  as  well  it  may  be,  for  that  is 
the  price  of  wisdom.  Her  civil  service,  Mr.  Curtis,  is  not 
the  worst  on  the  face  of  the  globe.  Life,  liberty,  and  the 
pursuit  of  happiness  are  ensured.  Property  is  secure. 
Order  prevails.  Industry  thrives.  Charity  aboxmds.  Her 
prisons  are  asylums.  Evidences  of  soul  can  be  found, 
without  the  aid  of  the  microscope,  in  her  corporations. 
Her  lawyers  earn  a  modest  fee.  Her  physicians  meet  in 
happy  conclave  and  celebrate  a  century  of  respectable  and 
kindly  blundering.  At  all  her  centennials,  —  and  they  are 
becoming  painfully  frequent, — whether  of  town,  or  school, 
or  society,  or  of  whatever  department  of  her  life,  no  praises 
are  quite  loud  enough  to  sing  the  excellence  of  her  pro- 
gress, till,  going  the  rounds,  perfection  is  found  to  be  the 
condition  of  every  institution  except  the  unhappy  one  of 
politics,  which  is  made  a  scapegoat  for  all  the  rest.  And 
yet  our  politics  are  so  far  harmless.  In  her  lexicon  there 
is  no  such  word  as  boss.  Her  people  have  no  "  leader." 
They  have  their  way  and  get  what  they  want  in  the  choice 
of  their  candidates  far  more  than  in  that  of  their  sermons, 
or,  as  the  statistics  begin  to  show,  of  their  marriages.  But 
the  price  of  all  this  is  vigilance.  There  is  danger  —  dan- 
ger from  greed,  danger  from  intolerance  and  narrowness 
above  and  ignorance  below,  danger  from  lack  of  that  gen- 


100  HARVAKD. 

erous  culture  which  lifts  a  man  to  the  exercise  of  the  best 
things  in  himself  and  to  the  appreciation  of  the  best  things 
in  his  fellow  men.  And  to  meet  this  danger  the  Common- 
wealth still  looks  to  the  training,  the  influence,  the  inspi- 
ration of  her  institutions  of  education ;  and  to  none  more 
than  to  Harvard,  which  still  is,  as  from  the  beginning  it 
has  been,  at  the  head. 


OPENING  ADDEESS 

At  the  Fair  of  the  Society  for  the  Prevention  of  Cruelty 
TO  Children,  Horticultural  Hall,  Boston,  December  8, 
1880. 

This  fair  is  now  open  and  will  be  held  in  aid  of  the 
Society  for  the  Prevention  of  Cruelty  to  Children.  As 
we  think  of  the  faces  of  the  little  ones,  at  the  sight  of 
whom  the  heart  of  the  Master  melted  so  tenderly ;  as  we 
think  of  the  little  heads  that  under  our  own  lamplight 
bow  at  nightfall  in  prayer,  of  the  little  hands  that  nestle 
in  ours,  of  the  eyes  that  laugh  in  happiness  or  droop  when 
sickness  comes;  as  we  think  at  once  of  the  dependence 
and  priceless  worth  and  sacredness  of  the  soul  of  a  little 
child,  it  seems  incredible  that  there  should  be  need  of  such 
a  society,  or  that  there  should  be  such  a  thing  as  cruelty 
to  children.  And  yet  the  record  of  Mr.  Fay's  work  will 
show  you  instance  after  instance  of  neglect  and  outrage, 
of  wrong  to  the  soul  and  to  the  body,  of  exposure  and 
blows  and  mutilation,  of  starvation  and  brutality,  and  also 
of  the  moral  degradation  that  comes  from  the  forcing  of 
children  into  every  species  of  imposture,  deceit,  and  crime. 
It  is  not  poverty  that  is  at  fault.  Poverty  is  as  tender 
and  loving  and  devoted  to  its  young  as  is  wealth,  and  de- 
serves credit  far  more,  because  it  is  tenderness,  love,  and 
devotion  at  far  greater  cost  and  sacrifice.  It  is  the  fault 
of  crime  and  avarice,  of  fiendishness,  and,  more  than  aU 
else,  of  the  terrible  and  blunting  savageness  of  strong 
drink  and  intoxication.     The  society  to  which  I  have  re- 


1012  THE  CHILDREN. 

f erred,  made  up  as  it  is  of  the  union  of  two  former  soci- 
eties, organized  under  the  laws  of  the  Commonwealth, 
directed  by  some  of  your  wisest  and  most  philanthropic 
citizens,  and  with  an  agent  of  great  experience,  humanity, 
and  skill,  is  endeavoring  to  search  out  the  victims  of  such 
wrong,  to  bring  light  to  the  desolate  hearts  of  children 
dependent  and  neglected,  to  relieve  their  immediate  dis- 
tress by  improving  their  surroundings,  or  by  helping  to 
transfer  them  to  better  ones,  and  especially  to  aid  in 
directing  them  into  channels  of  education,  honest  labor, 
and  honest  growth.  It  is  a  society  that  has  no  funds.  It 
depends  entirely  on  the  donations  of  the  private  citizen. 
So  far  these  have  not  failed,  but  the  field  is  so  broad,  the 
appeal  is  so  touching,  that  this  fair  is  held  and  the  warm 
heart  of  Massachusetts  is  besought  to  give  yet  more  gen- 
erously, so  that  a  greater  bounty  may  be  bestowed  and  a 
greater  good  done.  Whatever  the  cause  that  is  at  your 
hearts,  — if  it  be  education,  here  you  may  begin  at  its  foun- 
dation; if  it  be  the  crusade  against  intemperance,  here 
you  may  rescue  its  victims  from  the  earliest  blight ;  if  it 
be  the  suppression  of  crime,  here  you  may  not  only  save 
those  who  are  exposed  to  its  infliction,  but  snatch  from 
the  path  of  temptation  those  who  would  otherwise  grow 
up  to  be  its  perpetrators.  It  appeals  to  the  conscience 
and  prudence  of  men  who  feel  the  need  of  keeping  the 
social  fabric  wholesome  and  safe ;  —  to  the  hearts  of  wo- 
men, whom  may  Heaven  bless  for  this  and  for  many  an- 
other charity,  and  to  whom  the  most  plaintive  appeal  on 
earth  is  a  child's  cry  of  pain  or  a  child's  outstretched  and 
pleading  hands,  —  and  to  the  very  happiness  of  those 
favored  children  who,  of  all  the  blessings  that  fortune 
showers  upon  them,  cannot  too  soon  learn  that  there  is 
none  so  sweet  as  the  power  to  help  others.     There  is  no 


THE  CHILDREN.  103 

literature,  there  are  no  songs  so  tender  and  touching  as 
those  which  tell  of  the  sympathies,  the  sorrows,  the  out- 
reach of  childhood.  There  will  be  no  question  of  the  fit- 
ness of  your  giving  in  this  cause.  Your  gift,  however 
light,  will  come  back  to  you  unconsciously,  day  after  day, 
in  the  story  of  the  rescue  of  some  castaway  group  of  little 
breaking  hearts,  in  the  face  of  some  child  brightened  you 
know  not  how,  in  the  manly  life  of  some  boy  moving  on 
in  the  honor  and  success  of  a  true  citizen,  who  but  for  the 
impulse  of  the  charity  to  which  this  society  and  this  fair 
are  trying  to  give  practical  direction,  might  have  been  the 
criminal  or  the  pauper,  undermining  or  burdening  society 
and  the  state.     It  may  be  yours  to  say  some  day  with  the 

poet,  — 

"  And  thanks  untraced  to  lips  unknown 
Shall  greet  me  like  the  odors  blown 
From  unseen  meadows  newly  mown, 
Or  lilies  floating  in  some  pond, 
Wood-fringed,  the  wayside  gaze  beyond  ; 
The  traveller  owns  the  grateful  sense 
Of  sweetness  near,  he  knows  not  whence, 
And  pausing  takes  with  forehead  bare 
The  benediction  of  the  air."  ^ 

And  perhaps  on  your  ears  may  sometime  fall  the  blessed 
words:  "Inasmuch  as  ye  have  done  it  unto  one  of  the 
least  of  these,  ye  have  done  it  unto  me." 


GENEEAL  GRANT. 

At  the  Middlesex  Club  Dinner,  Hotel  Brunswick, 
October  18,  1880. 

I  DEEM  it  my  good  fortune  that  it  is  permitted  me  in 
behalf  of  the  Commonwealth  of  Massachusetts  to  bring, 
in  few  but  sincere  words,  the  hearty,  cordial,  unstinted 
greeting  of  all  her  people,  whatever  their  color,  whatever 
their  birth,  whatever  their  politics,  rich  or  poor,  —  we 
have  no  high  or  low,  —  to  that  distinguished  citizen  who, 
however  many  other  titles  he  may  have  earned  or  may 
hereafter  earn  in  his  varying  and  distinguished  service  of 
his  country,  will  never  be  known  by  any  title  more  endur- 
ing or  more  endearing  than  by  that  of  General  Grant. 
The  people  of  Massachusetts  honor  him  because  he  was  a 
loyal  soldier  in  war  and  because  he  is  a  loyal  citizen  in 
peace.  I  believe  that  there  is  no  heart  within  our  borders 
that  has  not  beat  quicker  for  his  coming.  There  is  no 
roof  here,  entering  which  he  shall  not  find  hanging  on  its 
walls,  familiar  as  the  face  of  Washington,  the  picture  of 
the  hero  of  Vicksburg,  of  Chattanooga,  of  Appomattox. 
If  to-morrow  or  next  day  he  shall  fare  through  our  rich 
autumnal  scenery,  his  eye  will  fall  upon  many  a  modest 
headstone  that  marks  the  last  resting-place  of  some  one 
of  those  soldiers  who  loved  him  and  followed  him.  If 
he  tarry  for  never  so  short  a  time  in  any  of  our  villages, 
the  old  veterans  of  the  war  will  cluster  around  him  to 
catch  another  grasp  of  the  hand,  another  glimpse  of  the 
face  of  the  man  under  whom  they  were  willing  to  march 


GRANT.  105 

to  glory,  and  to  follow  on  that  line  if  it  took  all  sum- 
mer. 

Above  all  partisanship,  Massachusetts  greets  him  here, 
because  he  was  the  general  who  never  whined  or  flinched ; 
because  as  President  his  veto  saved  the  country  from  finan- 
cial chaos ;  because  as  an  American  citizen,  after  receiving 
the  most  flattering  attention  at  home  and  abroad,  he  has 
preserved  his  simplicity  of  character  and  only  broadened 
into  a  nobler  statesmanship  and  a  wider  faith  in  republi- 
can institutions ;  and  perhaps  most  of  all,  because  as  a 
simple  citizen,  wise,  disinterested,  and  patriotic  in  his 
recent  utterances  during  the  present  year,  he  has  shown, 
as  an  observer  of  the  institutions  of  his  country,  a  mag- 
nanimity which  was  large  enough  to  take  in  not  a  part 
but  the  whole  of  it. 

I  should  not  do  justice  to  the  Commonwealth,  also,  if  I 
did  not  greet  him  as  the  representative  of  the  great  "West, 
which  has  been  so  largely  peopled  from  the  loins  of  Mas- 
sachusetts and  attuned  by  its  spirit.  If  to-morrow  he 
shall  lay  his  ear  above  the  graves  of  Bradford  and  Brew- 
ster and  Winslow  and  Carver,  and  of  that  other  doughty 
little  captain.  Miles  Standish,  he  will  distinguish,  amid 
the  music  of  the  ocean  which  resounds  at  his  feet,  the 
strains  of  the  finer  music  of  those  departed  souls.  It  will 
breathe  to  him  that  love  of  liberty,  that  independence  of 
individuality,  that  equality  of  all  God's  children,  that  eter- 
nal sense  of  right  which,  planted  two  hundred  and  fifty 
years  ago  on  the  icy  and  barren  edge  of  Plymouth  Rock, 
are  to-day  the  most  magnificent  harvests  of  the  West, 
richer  than  its  grain  and  its  gold,  mightier  even  than  its 
men  of  battle.  I  say  that  it  will  breathe  that  strain  in  his 
ear.  As  I  remember  his  life  and  services,  as  I  have  read 
and  as  I  have  heard  his  words,  I  am  sure  that  that  strain 


106  GRANT. 

has  already  been  breathed  to  him.  I  deem  it  fortunate  to- 
day that  he,  his  family,  and  his  friends  come  among  us  in 
the  glorious  season  of  the  turning  year.  Our  rivers  and 
hillsides  never  more  brilliant,  our  clear  autumnal  lights 
never  more  mellow,  give  him  welcome.  They  give  him  wel- 
come because  he  recalls  that  group  of  statesmen  —  some 
of  them  now  glittering  among  the  stars  this  October  night 
—  who  stood  for  the  salvation  of  our  country  in  its  great 
hour  of  peril ;  because  he  recalls  to  us  Lincoln,  who  leaned 
on  him ;  because  he  recalls  Andrew,  who  looked  not  in 
vain  to  him  to  strike  a  blow ;  and  because  in  so  many 
loyal  hearts  and  patriotic  memories  he  stands  as  the  rep- 
resentative of  that  loyalty  which  is  more  vital  and  more 
sacred  even  than  loyalty  to  the  flag,  —  loyalty  to  free  gov- 
ernment of  the  people,  and  to  human  rights.  I  am  sure 
General  Grant  will  take  as  the  best  word  I  can  say  that 
Massachusetts,  in  whatever  other  respects  it  honors  him, 
honors  him  most  in  so  far  as  he  has  fought  for  and  stood 
for,  and  will  continue  to  give  the  great  weight  of  his  in- 
fluence to  those  ideals  to  the  memory  of  which  she  rears 
these  statues  of  Winthrop  and  Adams  and  Webster  and 
Andrew,  to  the  defense  of  which  she  sent  Whitney  and 
Shaw  and  Ladd  and  Lowell  to  die  in  the  streets  of  Balti- 
more or  on  the  battlefield,  and  for  the  maintenance  of 
which  she  will  hold  all  public  men  till  she  shall  cease  to 
be  the  Commonwealth  of  the  Pilgrim  and  the  Puritan. 


GENERAL  SHERMAN. 

Reception  by  the  Boston  Merchants'  Association,  December 

27,  1880. 

I  THANK  you,  Mr.  President,  and  through  you  the  Mer- 
chants' Association  of  Boston,  not  only  for  this  kindly 
greeting,  but  also  for  the  opportunity  to  pay  my  personal 
respects  to  General  Sherman,  and  to  convey  to  him  from 
the  whole  Commonwealth  a  "  Merry  Christmas  "  and  a 
"Happy  New  Year."  Yes,  Mr.  President,  many  and 
many  a  happy  new  year  of  a  long  and  useful  life  !  I  had 
hoped  to  do  him  what  I  might  modestly  call  the  greatest 
honor  of  his  life  by  receiving  him  under  the  gilded  dome, 
by  introducing  him  to  our  military  and  civil  officials,  to  my 
staff,  also  gilded,  and  particularly  to  our  honorable  coun- 
cilors, one  of  whom,  I  believe,  has  the  still  greater  honor  of 
being  a  member  of  the  Merchants'  Association ;  by  reading 
to  him  a  portion  of  my  forthcoming  inaugural  address  ;  by 
pointing  his  reverential  gaze  to  the  sacred  codfish,  and, 
certainly,  by  touching  his  heart  and  dimming  his  eyes,  as 
I  know  they  would  have  been  dimmed,  -at  the  sight  in 
Doric  Hall  of  our  regimental  flags,  some  of  which  have 
often  bent  to  salute  him  in  the  field,  and  beneath  which 
so  many  of  the  soldiers  of  Massachusetts,  with  never- 
failing  confidence  in  their  commander,  have  followed  him 
into  the  fire  of  battle,  and  have  tramped  with  him  from 
Atlanta  to  the  sea.  And  if  he  had  stayed  to  listen  I  am 
not  sure  that  he  would  not  have  heard,  faint  from  their 
folds  at  first,  but  soon  loud  and  stirring  upon  his  ear,  a 


108  SHERMAN. 

familiar  strain  as  ten  thousand  loyal  voices  came  back  to 
his  memory,  singing  the  resounding  chorus  of  "  Marching 
through  Georgia." 

While  I  regret  that  he  has  been  obliged  to  decline  me 
this,  yet  I  very  much  rejoice  that  it  is  because  the  exten- 
sion of  other  courtesies  to  him  by  our  citizens  has  pre- 
occupied his  time,  so  that  he  needs  no  added  assurance  of 
how  welcome  he  is  everywhere  among  our  people,  and  how 
universal  and  sincere  is  their  appreciation  of  his  great 
services.  The  people  of  Massachusetts,  general,  are  a 
patriotic  people.  Love  of  country  is  in  the  very  fibre  of 
their  hearts.  They  breathe  it  in  the  air  ;  they  are  taught 
it  in  every  verse  they  sing,  in  every  public  word  they  hear, 
and  in  every  line  they  read.  They  honor  the  flag  in 
defense  of  which  their  best  blood  has  run,  and  they  are 
loyal  to  the  republic  which  their  best  brains  and  conscience 
helped  to  found,  to  better,  and  to  perpetuate.  But  their 
love  of  country  is  large  enough  and  generous  enough  to 
embrace  it  all.  They  value  the  triumph  of  the  national 
arm,  in  wielding  which  you  had  so  large  a  share,  mainly 
in  proportion  as  it  has  opened  a  greater  opportunity  for 
the  common  progress  of  the  whole  country.  And  there- 
fore they  especially  honor  a  man  who  to  brilliant  service 
in  the  field,  —  to  a  conqueror's  march  through  an  enemy's 
country  as  famous  now,  both  in  itself  and  in  its  com- 
mander's story  of  its  progress,  as  that  of  Xenophon,  — 
and  to  a  final  victory  second  only  to  that  of  Kichmond, 
could  also  add  the  magnanimity  of  generous  terms  to  a 
surrendering  foe,  and  who,  from  that  day  to  this,  has 
known  nothing  narrower  than  a  reunited  country.  In 
behalf,  therefore,  of  the  Commonwealth,  I  extend  most 
cordial  greeting  to  General  Sherman. 

Nor,  certainly,  can  I  do  that,  especially  in  the  presence 


SHERMAN.  109 

of  the  merchants  of  Boston,  without  calling  to  mind  an- 
other of  the  same  name  and  of  the  same  blood,  who,  in 
civil  life,  has  distinguished  himself  equally  with  our  hon- 
ored guest  in  his  military  career.  Massachusetts  knows 
no  better  financial  philosophy  than  an  honest  dollar,  the 
best  money  for  all  alike,  and  the  exact  payment  of  every 
public  obligation.  And,  grateful  to  the  Secretary  of  the 
Treasury  for  his  splendid  administration  of  this  branch 
of  the  government  upon  these  simple  principles,  she  only 
hopes  that  his  successor  will  be  as  good  a  man  as  John 
Sherman  himself. 

If  Massachusetts  were  to  give  you  a  toast,  therefore,  I 
am  sure  she  would  give  you  The  Two  Shermans,  —  William 
and  John.  With  their  kinsman,  Roger,  they  form  a  con- 
stellation in  the  public  service  of  their  country.  Indeed 
we  may  regard  them  as  our  Castor  and  Pollux, — one  the 
tamer  of  that  fiery  steed,  the  greenback,  and  the  other 
a  boxer,  whose  gauntlet  was  an  army  corps  of  freemen 
fighting  for  the  integrity  of  the  whole  country,  for  the 
emancipation  of  the  slave,  and  for  the  emancipation,  also, 
even  of  their  foes  from  the  barbarism  and  palsy  of  own- 
ership in  man. 


GENERAL  LOGAN. 

At  a  Memorial  Meeting  at  the  Metropolitan  Church, 
Washington,  D.  C,  February  10,  1888. 

In  behalf  of  the  Commonwealth  from  which  I  come,  I 
am  glad  to  join  in  this  tribute  to  the  brave  and  loyal  soul, 
without  fear  and  without  reproach,  the  soldier's  idol  and 
friend,  the  founder  of  Memorial  Day,  —  General  Logan. 
We  pay  our  tribute,  not  to  his  memory,  but  to  him.  It 
is  the  poverty  of  our  language,  if  not  of  our  thoughts,  that 
when  men  die  we  speak  of  them  as  gone,  and  inscribe  our 
honors  to  their  memories  rather  than  to  their  immortal 
lives. 

General  Logan  was  rarely  in  New  England.  Only  a 
small  fraction  of  our  people  ever  saw  him.  But  for  that 
very  reason  he  is  scarcely  more  gone  from  them  now  than 
he  was  during  his  earthly  walk.  Then,  as  now,  he  was, 
and  now,  as  then,  he  is  to  them  a  life ;  a  positive  force 
added  to  the  world's  dynamic  energies ;  an  impulse  of  pa- 
triotism ;  a  factor  in  the  national  vitality ;  a  suggestion  of 
personal  courage,  of  loyal  service,  of  public  and  private 
integrity;  a  type  of  characteristic  American  citizenship. 
He  has  fixed  himself  upon  their  vision  like  a  star. 

The  scenes  of  the  war  exhibit  no  more  vivid  picture 
than  that  which  one  of  his  eulogists  in  the  House  of  Rep- 
resentatives gave  of  him  at  Atlanta  on  the  22d  of  July, 
1864,  when  McPherson  was  slain,  the  Army  of  Tennessee 
was  falling  back,  and  Logan,  its  new  commander,  mounted 
on  his  black  war-horse,  his  hair  floating  back,  his  eyes 


LOGAN.  Ill 

ablaze,  his  voice  ringing  like  a  bugle,  came,  like  Sheridan 
at  Winchester,  flashing  down  the  line  which,  rallying  at 
his  lead,  returned  to  the  attack,  and  drove  the  foe  from 
the  field.  Nor  was  there  ever  a  nobler  magnanimity  than 
his  toward  Thomas. 

For  these  reasons  a  peculiarly  warm  and  efPusive  regard 
always  springs  toward  him  from  the  hearts  of  the  people. 
To  them  he  was  the  black  eagle  of  victory.  If  they  or 
their  press  ever  criticised  him,  they  never  doubted  him. 
If,  in  the  fiery  contentions  of  our  politics,  they  charged 
him  with  the  faults  which  are  the  common  lot  of  all,  they 
never  questioned  the  strong,  heroic  qualities  he  shared, 
not  with  all,  nor  even  with  the  many,  but  with  the  few. 
He  was  not  the  greatest  soldier  of  the  war,  yet  he  stands 
its  most  picturesque  and  striking  volunteer,  never  failing 
in  promptness  or  performance.  He  was  not  the  first 
statesman  of  the  republic,  yet  he  was  one  of  the  moulding 
forces  that  shaped  its  political  course.  He  was  not  the 
foremost  of  orators,  yet  he  exerted  an  influence  on  public 
sentiment  which  the  most  eloquent  orators  might  envy. 
It  may  be  said  of  him,  which  cannot  be  said  of  others  who 
have  ranked  higher,  that  he  never  fell  below  himself  or 
the  expectation  which  was  had  of  him.  His  military  ca- 
reer was  far  greater  and  more  brilliant  than  his  training 
or  his  opportunity  would  have  suggested.  There  was  no 
coming  short  of  himself,  no  disappointment  to  the  hope. 

He  again  represents,  as  so  many  have  represented,  that 
splendid  type  of  American  improvement  of  American  op- 
portunities. His  were  frontier  life,  obstacles,  struggle, 
courage,  persistence,  indefatigable  industry,  quenchless 
ambition,  success,  victory,  and  the  desert  of  victory.  In 
the  generations  to  come  the  American  boy's  heart,  as  he 
learns  his  country's  story,  will  burn  with  the  picture  of  the 


112  LOGAN. 

martial  figure  and  achievements  of  John  A.  Logan.  The 
posterity  of  the  emancipated  slaves  will  remember  his  loy- 
alty to  their  race, — fighting  in  war  for  their  freedom,  and 
in  peace  for  their  equal  rights  before  the  law.  And  the 
American  fireside  will  long  recall,  as  an  inspiring  stimulus 
to  the  purity  and  blessedness  of  home,  the  domestic  bond 
that  united  him  and  Mary,  his  wife,  hardly  more  together 
than  it  united  them  both  in  the  respect  of  their  country- 
men and  countrywomen. 

It  was  his  distinction  that  he  emphasized  the  talents 
God  gave  him.  The  whole  republic  recognizes  him  as  a 
conspicuous  example ;  as  one  of  its  heroes,  not  of  exagger- 
ation, but  of  the  great  body  of  the  people ;  not  of  romance, 
but  of  our  realistic  American  life.  As  such  the  people 
loved  him ;  as  such  we  pay  him  here  and  now  our  tribute, 
grateful  for  his  services  in  war  and  peace,  his  chivalrous 
courage,  his  pure,  brave,  patriotic  life.  Still  with  us  are 
Sherman  and  Sheridan ;  over  the  river  are  Grant,  Thomas, 
Hancock,  Logan,  and  so  many,  many  illustrious  names  of 
captains  and  privates.  All  these  are  now  of  one  equal 
rank  at  last  in  God's  grand  army  and  loyal  legion. 


RESPONSE 

At  the  Banquet  of  the  National  Druggists'  Association  at 
Odd  Fellows  Hall,  Boston,  August  25,  1887. 

It  is  very  little  I  can  say  in  response  to  your  toast  ex- 
cept to  thank  you  for  my  seat  at  your  generous  board  in 
this  goodly  company.  If  the  variety  from  which  I  have 
supped  is  a  sample  of  your  wares,  then  I  am  sure  your 
drugs  are  very  delightful  to  take ;  and  the  price,  a  few 
words  in  the  way  of  a  speech,  is  much  more  reasonable 
than  your  general  reputation  would  lead  one  to  believe.  I 
feel  something  of  kinship  with  you,  when  I  remember  that 
the  ordinary  congressman's  speech  is  one  of  the  common- 
est drugs  in  the  market.  But  none  the  less  disinterestedly 
can  I  testify  to  the  debt  which  the  whole  community  owe 
you.  Why,  sir,  more  than  half  the  literature  and  most 
of  the  pictorial  charm  in  the  daily  papers  —  need  I  refer 
to  their  advertising  columns  ?  —  are  yours.  Disinterested 
and  spontaneous  lovers  of  their  fellow  men  pour  their  con- 
fessions into  the  public  prints  so  that  others  may  learn,  as 
they  have  learned,  that  all  the  ills  to  which  the  human 
body  is  heir  fly  at  your  approach ;  that  where  one  spear  of 
hair  once  grew,  there  now  grow  two ;  that  grim  dyspepsia  is 
only  the  dark  portal  which  opens  upon  the  luxurious  vista 
of  its  cure ;  and  that  the  kidneys  are  but  a  providential 
agency  for  tickling  the  palate  with  nectars  such  as  were 
never  dreamed  of  by  the  gods.  You  have  added  a  new 
picturesqueness  to  nature  with  the  blazonry  which  your 
Raphaels   and  Angelos  —  Mike  Angelos  —  have   daubed 


114  THE  DRUGGISTS. 

on  every  cliff  and  rural  barn.  My  earliest  instruction  in 
art,  when,  a  boy  in  Maine,  I  bought  candy  in  a  country 
store,  was  to  gaze  with  large  eyes  upon  the  illustrated 
placard  which,  specked  somewhat  by  the  summer  flies,  but 
still  gaudily  picturing  the  wall,  portrayed  the  glory  and 
beneficence  of  Townsend's  Sarsaparilla.  It  is  said  that 
Daniel  Webster  took  his  first  lesson  in  statesmanship 
from  studying  the  Constitution  printed  on  a  cheap  pocket- 
handkerchief.  "We  are  like  him  in  this  respect,  many  of 
us  having  had  our  early  reading  lessons  in  deciphering 
the  directions,  in  large  type,  on  the  label  of  Perry  Davis' 
Pain  Killer.  What  brings  such  sweet  somnolence  as  a 
drug,  —  unless  it  be  a  sermon  ?  Where  else  than  at  the 
druggists'  do  you  find  such  a  charming  and  efficient  cure 
for  all  ills,  —  except  in  the  solemn  platform  of  a  political 
party  convention  ? 

As  a  Massachusetts  man  I  gladly  join  in  welcoming  to 
Boston  you  who  have  come  from  the  cities  of  the  whole 
country  over.  There  is  no  extent  to  which  the  "  Hub  " 
will  not  go  in  yielding  every  courtesy  to  her  sister  cities. 
If  she  fail  at  all  in  that  respect,  attribute  it  to  her  modest 
reluctance  to  surpass  them  in  their  previous  receptions  of 
your  association.  You  have  given  me  rather  an  indefinite 
toast,  "Our  Representatives  in  Congress."  As  one  of 
them  I  am  of  course  your  friend,  and  thank  you  for  call- 
ing me  so.  Why,  sir,  what  Congressman,  looking  at  yet 
higher  honors,  would  not  be  the  friend  of  five  hundred 
adults,  voters,  representing  so  many  States  of  the  Union, 
each  one  with  a  ballot  in  his  hand,  each  having  paid  his 
poll-tax,  although  at  the  same  time  evading  as  much  of 
the  rest  of  his  tax  as  he  conveniently  can  ?  I  speak  not 
for  myself,  but  rather  for  the  whole  general  membership 
of  that  distinguished  legislative  body  to  which  you  have 


THE  DRUGGISTS.  115 

referred,  when  I  say  that,  clumsy,  uncertain,  and  slow  as 
may  be  the  steps  of  Congress,  yet  Congress  does  desire  and 
try,  as  far  as  possible,  to  look  after  and  attend  to  your 
business  interests  and  the  general  interests  of  the  country. 
I  recall  the  frequent  pathetic,  if  not  poetic,  picture  of 
dignified  and  venerable  gentlemen,  whom  in  private  life 
you  could  not  touch  with  a  ten-foot  pole,  if,  per  ad  venture, 
you  should  ever  desire  to  touch  them  with  a  ten-foot  pole, 
who  yet,  when  once  elected  to  service  in  Washington,  be- 
come the  most  servile  of  errand  boys,  sweating  through 
the  departments  to  do  chores  for  the  people  whom  they 
represent  and  whose  suffrages  they  are  willing,  not  on 
their  own  account,  but  yielding  to  the  demand  of  their 
"  friends,"  to  retain.  You  ask,  why  then  does  not  Con- 
gress do  something,  why  not  pass  this  law  or  that  ?  The 
answer,  is,  because  of  the  great  conflict  of  interests  among 
you  and  in  the  community  at  large.  Congress  is  only  the 
expression  of  public  sentiment,  —  nothing  more.  If  that 
public  sentiment  is  divided.  Congress  is  divided.  When 
that  sentiment  unites  to  the  extent  of  a  majority  senti- 
ment, then  Congress  enacts  its  commands.  You  say  you 
want  a  bankrupt  law  and  can  get  none.  It  is  because 
there  is  not  a  sufficient  majority  of  people  in  favor  of  it 
to  secure  its  passage.  You  have  not  had,  since  1883,  a 
revision  of  the  tariff.  It  is  because  public  sentiment  has 
not  been  united  enough  in  demanding  it.  In  other  words, 
it  is  you,  and  other  associations  like  yours,  who,  not  as  in- 
dividuals, but  as  the  great  business  constituencies  of  the 
nation,  are  the  real  Congress  of  the  United  States.  The 
responsibility  is  yours  as  well  as  ours.  It  is  for  you  to 
mould  the  public  sentiment  and  pay  the  bills ;  for  us  to 
formulate  it  into  law  and  draw  the  salary. 

In  all  seriousness,  gentlemen,  I  should  not  do  myself  or 


116  THE  DRUGGISTS. 

this  occasion  justice  if  I  did  not  speak  my  word  of  tribute 
to  the  beneficence  and  importance  of  your  guild.  You 
represent  millions  of  accumulated  and  invested  capital. 
You  employ  thousands  and  thousands  of  employees.  You 
distribute  uncounted  wages,  which  is  the  material  bread 
of  life.  You  turn  the  wheels  of  manufactories,  and  spread 
the  sails,  and  weight  the  iron  steeds  of  commerce.  Thus 
from  your  own  arena  you  reach  into  swift  and  vital  rela- 
tions with  every  social,  political,  and  industrial  problem, 
and  becoming  more  than  members  of  your  own  depart- 
ment of  activity,  are  efficient  and  responsible  forces  in  the 
great  onward  civilization  of  the  age.  Nor  do  I  forget  that 
there  is  in  you  something  of  the  Good  Samaritan,  who 
poured  the  oil  and  wine  ;  and  that  your  work  goes  to  the 
assuaging  of  human  suffering,  the  finding  of  new  and 
more  helpful  agencies  for  securing  health  and  repelling 
disease,  and  to  the  holding  up  of  the  hands  of  the  physi- 
cian and  surgeon,  whose  ministry  is  akin  to  that  of  him 
who  ministers  to  the  sorrows  and  needs  of  the  human  soul. 
You  have  the  sweetest  of  all  rewards,  the  consciousness  of 
helping  humanity ;  of  somehow,  somewhere,  making  some 
one  happier  and  better  by  bringing  sleep  to  a  tired  eyelid, 
by  bringing  rest  to  an  exhausted  brain,  by  bringing  quiet 
to  a  shattered  and  tingling  nerve,  by  bringing  relief  to 
pain,  cure  to  disease,  health  to  infirmity,  and  by  bringing 
also,  let  you  and  me  frankly  say,  a  modest  profit  in  return 
to  your  pockets,  and  now  and  then  a  good  dinner  to  a 
poor  but  respectable  congressman. 


WEBSTER  CENTENNIAL 

At  Marshfield,  October  13,  1882. 

A  HUNDRED  years  ago  last  January  Daniel  Webster 
was  born.  Thirty  years  ago  this  month  he  died  and  was 
buried  on  this  farm.  To-day  we  visit  his  grave,  not 
pouring  upon  it  libations  of  wine  and  milk  and  blood,  not 
shedding  over  it  the  tears  of  recent  grief,  but  paying  it 
the  tribute  of  a  reverent  memory,  the  gratitude  of  a 
nation's  heart,  and  the  justice  due  a  mighty  defender  and 
saviour  of  our  country.  My  poor  word  of  praise  and  criti- 
cism concerning  him  has  been  spoken,  and  I  shall  not 
repeat  it.  Here  he  speaks  for  himself.  On  this  sacred 
soil,  within  sight  of  these  elms,  in  the  open  air  of  this 
October  day,  there  comes  a  feeling  that  he  is  here,  that 
his  great  eyes  greet  us,  and  that  his  eloquent  lips  will 
speak  and  silence  ours.  And  here,  indeed,  he  is.  What 
idle  formality  was  it  that  took  us  to  the  dust  he  long  ago 
shook  off,  when  here,  in  every  whisper  of  the  wind,  in 
every  scarlet  leaf,  in  these  woods  and  fields  and  streams, 
he,  the  genius  of  them  all,  still  lives,  as  he  still  lives 
in  the  constitution  he  expounded  and  moulded,  in  the 
union  he  cemented  and  preserved,  and  in  the  impress  he 
stamped  upon  the  political  sentiment  of  the  American 
people. 

This  spot  has  been  well  chosen  for  the  tribute  of  this 
day.  Here,  with  a  sense  of  restfulness  and  sympathy, 
came  the  great  heart  of  Daniel  Webster.  Large  as  was 
the  honor  he  bestowed  on  Marshfield,  he  bestowed  nothing 


118  MARSHFIELD. 

grander  than  he  found.  For  here  the  lonely  sea,  which 
he  loved,  and  in  whose  vastness  and  grandeur  his  own 
great  soul  felt  a  subtle  kinship,  communed  with  him,  yet 
spoke  no  language  he  did  not  comprehend,  and  breathed 
no  whisper  he  did  not  catch.  Here  with  him  the  pilgrim 
sage  sought  the  freedom  of  the  new  world  for  the  exer- 
cise of  his  conscience.  Here  Winslow  and  Standish  and 
Bradford  and  Brewster  walked  the  forest  aisles  and  dis- 
cussed with  him  great  themes  of  constitutional  law,  of 
chartered  rights,  of  civil  and  religious  liberty.  Here, 
under  his  elm  and  from  beneath  his  almost  equally  over- 
hanging brim  and  brow,  he  saw  the  sails  of  the  May- 
flower far  off,  and  in  her  cabin  gravely  drew  the  compact 
that  embodied  the  germ  of  those  basal  ideas  of  union  and 
liberty,  one  and  inseparable,  which  were  imprinted  on  his 
heart  like  a  legend.  Here  in  all  the  earth  and  air  was  the 
spirit  of  that  pilgrim  enterprise  and  purpose  of  which  he 
never  tired,  to  which  he  drew  close,  and  from  which  he 
drank  copious  inspiration.  Here,  too,  the  very  soil,  re- 
sponding to  his  sympathetic  care  and  nurture,  turned  to 
verdure  and  beauty  ;  here  he  looked  his  oxen  in  the  face  ; 
and  here  the  wide  fields,  barren  and  bleak,  clothed  them- 
selves for  him  with  the  graceful  shade  of  groves  and  were 
musical  with  the  rustle  of  the  waving  grain.  In  the 
touching  homely  humanity  which  attaches  to  Webster  in 
his  relation  to  rural  things,  to  the  farm  and  to  all  the 
instincts  of  neighborly  New  England  life,  there  is  some- 
thing that  endears  him  to  us,  independent  of  his  great 
eminence  as  a  statesman  and  a  lawyer.  Whether  he 
planted,  or  fished,  or  gunned,  or  waded  streams,  or  cooled 
his  shadowy  brow  under  the  trees,  or  drove  over  the 
country  roads,  or  met  his  neighbors  in  the  fields  or  by 
the  fireside,  it  was  still  the  same ;  it  was  the  sense  of  the 


MARSHFIELD.  119 

proximity  of  a  New  England  man,  born  in  the  humble 
farmhouse,  true  to  the  instincts  of  the  fields,  and  loving 
the  cattle  and  the  hay,  the  furrow  and  the  marsh. 

And  here  the  great  orator,  the  great  senator,  the  great 
lawyer,  is  still  the  Marshfield  farmer  and  neighbor.  He 
has  to-day  given  us  all  a  cordial  welcome.  He  has  fed  us 
at  his  table.  He  has  sat  with  us  in  his  library  and  under 
his  elm.  He  has  shown  us  his  crops  and  barns,  his  cattle 
and  sheep.  We  grasp  his  hand  and  go  back  to  our 
homes,  and  not  till  we  have  broken  the  charm  of  his  per- 
sonal courtesy  are  we  fully  conscious  that  we  have  been 
with  him  who  pronounced  the  magnificent  funeral  ora- 
tion of  Adams  and  Jefferson,  the  discourses  at  Plymouth 
Rock  and  Bunker  Hill,  the  Dartmouth  College  argument, 
and  the  overwhelming  and  resistless  replies  to  Hayne  and 
Calhoun.  All  honor  to  his  memory  ;  all  gratitude  for  his 
service ;  all  justice  to  his  fame  ! 

It  is  my  happy  privilege  and  duty  to  give  cordial  wel- 
come to  all  who  have  gathered  here,  —  to  the  officers  and 
citizens  of  this  town  of  Marshfield  and  this  county  of 
Plymouth  in  which  Webster  lived,  and  to  my  fellow-citi- 
zens of  this  Commonwealth  of  which  he  was  so  many 
years  the  admiration  and  glory.  I  welcome  the  Ancient 
and  Honorable  Artillery  company  and  the  veteran  sol- 
diers of  the  Grand  Army,  whose  gunpowder  was  ground 
from  Webster's  logic.  In  the  name  of  the  Commonwealth 
and  in  behalf  of  the  Webster  Historical  Society,  I  also 
cordially  welcome  the  distinguished  guests  who  have  come 
from  beyond  our  borders,  the  governors  of  our  beloved 
sister  New  England  States,  and  especially  him  whose  name 
I  have  kept  till  last,  in  order  to  present  him  first,  the 
President  of  the  United  States.  Welcome,  sir,  to  Massa- 
chusetts and  to  Marshfield,  to  the  State  of  the  Adamses, 


120  MARSHFIELD. 

whose  successor  you  are,  and  to  the  grave  of  Webster, 
but  for  whom  it  is  hardly  too  much  to  say  that  to-day 
they  would  have  no  successor.  Massachusetts  thinks  no 
courtesy  too  great,  no  greeting  too  cordial,  to  bestow 
upon  the  chief  magistrate  of  the  nation  in  which  there 
is  no  stauncher  or  more  loyal  state.  But  with  especial 
interest  does  she  welcome  you,  remembering  your  associa- 
tion with  Garfield,  whom  she  honored  and  loved,  the  dig- 
nity with  which  you  bore  the  terrible  ordeal  of  his  long 
agony  of  death  and  succeeded  to  his  place,  and  the  cour- 
age and  force  of  conviction  with  which,  on  more  than  one 
occasion,  you  have  exercised  the  prerogative  of  your  great 
office.  Fellow-citizens,  I  present  to  you  the  President  of 
the  United  States. 


MAYOR  PRINCE. 

On  the  Unveiling  of  his  Portrait  at  the  Dedication  of 
THE  Prince  Schoolhouse,  Boston,  November  10, 1881. 

I  THINK,  Mr.  Mayor,  you  will  agree  with  me  —  who 
have  so  recently  passed  through  the  ordeal  to  which  you 
are  now  subjected  —  that  it  is  on  an  occasion  like  this 
far  more  blessed  to  give  than  to  receive.  And  yet,  next 
to  the  pleasure  which  I  feel  in  presenting  to  you  this, 
your  portrait,  —  the  cordial  gift  of  many  friends,  — 
must  be  that  which  you  feel  in  the  regard  in  which  they 
hold  you,  and  of  which  it  is  only  the  expression.  Nor  is 
it  possible  that  you  could  deem  any  monument  more  en- 
viable than  this  likeness  of  yourself,  the  citizen  magistrate 
of  the  modern  Athens,  hanging  upon  the  walls  of  one  of 
her  sacred  temples  of  learning,  forever  in  the  presence  of 
the  soulful  faces  and  expanding  intelligence  of  her  chil- 
dren, who  for  generations  hence  will  hither  come  to  drink 
at  the  fountains  of  intellectual  life,  to  be  inspired  by  noble 
examples,  and  thus  to  lay  the  deep  foundations  of  char- 
acter. The  schoolroom  is  the  very  garden  of  immortality. 
Classes  may  come  and  classes  may  go,  but  there  still  flows 
in  forever  the  springtide  of  rosy  youth.  And,  communi- 
cating itself  to  your  double  here,  from  whom  from  this 
day  hence  you  part  company  in  respect  to  growing  old, 
he,  too,  shall  never  know  or  feel  the  lapse  of  years,  but 
always  be  the  polished  scholar  and  gentleman  he  is  to- 
day. And  when,  as  I  trust  may  be  the  case,  long  after 
the  twentieth  century  shall  have  begun  its  round,  you 


122  MAYOR  PRINCE. 

will  perchance  enter  again  these  doors,  —  your  cane,  no 
doubt,  in  hand,  just  as  the  artist  has  given  it  to  you  here, 
—  it  may  be  that  some  school-child  will  guide  your  steps 
with  her  little  hand,  and,  pointing  thither,  tell  you,  in 
innocent  ignorance  of  your  identity,  that  it  is  the  picture 
of  one  of  Boston's  good  old  mayors,  who  for  many  years 
presided  over  her  destinies,  who  loved  her  for  her  ancient 
fame  and  her  later  worth,  who  in  many  graceful  orations 
maintained  her  reputation  for  eloquence,  who  identified 
himself  with  her  progress  in  learning,  art,  and  literature, 
and  who,  fostering  her  schools,  did  not  forget  that  the 
education  of  all  her  children  is  her  greatest  duty  and  her 
proudest  achievement.  If  the  child  shall  assure  you  that 
it  was  at  the  time  of  its  suspension  an  excellent  likeness, 
she  will  tell  you,  though  the  flattering  compliment  may  at 
this  moment  somewhat  severely  test  your  modesty,  only 
the  simple  truth.  If  ever  an  artist  was  to  be  congratu- 
lated upon  a  success  which  leaves  nothing  to  be  desired, 
and  which  has  reproduced  his  subject  to  the  very  life,  it 
is  Mr.  Parker,  in  this  effort  of  his  skill.  There  are  those 
who  doubt  the  propriety  of  public  portraits  of  the  living ; 
but  at  least  in  your  case,  sir,  I  cannot  believe  the  city  will 
suffer  any  detriment.  As  for  yourself,  though  you  were 
the  best  of  men,  you  would  be  a  better  one  remembering 
that  children  at  school  look  daily  on  your  face  ;  and  I  am 
sure  you  and  I  enjoy  our  portraits  far  more  than  if  their 
execution  were  postponed  until  after  our  own.  As  for 
your  fellow  citizens,  why  should  they  be  debarred  the 
pleasure  of  thus  exhibiting  their  regard  for  one  whom 
they  have  already  paid  the  greater  tribute  of  choosing  so 
many  times  to  be  the  chief  magistrate  of  their  city  ? 

Mr.  Mayor,  my  duty  is  done.     It  affords  me  great  and 
perhaps  a  vindictive  pleasure  to  leave  you,  as  you  so  re- 


MAYOR  PRINCE.  123 

cently  left  me,  to  the  painful  embarrassment,  from  whicli, 
however,  your  facility  will  easily  release  you,  of  respond- 
ing to  the  presentation  of  your  own  portrait,  and  of  pro- 
nouncing an  oration  of  which  you  shall  yourself  be  the 
sole  topic.  Let  me  only  add  how  cordially  my  own  per- 
sonal sympathies  go  with  the  words  I  have  uttered  in 
behalf  of  those  of  whom  I  am  the  representative  in  pre- 
senting this  excellent  likeness.  I  congratulate  you.  Mayor 
Prince,  upon  an  honor  now  conferred  upon  you,  greater 
than  the  laurel  wreath,  in  that  a  plain  Boston  schoolhouse 
has  this  day  been  dedicated,  to  which  your  name  has  been 
given,  and  on  the  walls  of  which  your  picture  hangs. 


KESPONSE 

At  the  Dinner  on  Forefathers'  Day  at  Davis  Hall, 
Plymouth,  Mass.,  December  21,  1880. 

Both  as  representing  a  Commonwealtli  made  up  in 
part  of  the  Plymoutli  Colony,  of  which  John  Carver  was 
the  first  governor,  and  personally  as  a  resident  of  Ply- 
mouth County  and  a  descendant  from  Pilgrim  stock,  it  is 
with  great  pleasure  that  I  join  to-day  in  this  commemo- 
ration of  the  landing  of  that  band  of  exiles  who,  two  hun- 
dred and  sixty  years  ago,  moored  their  bark  on  what  we 
have,  indeed,  amid  this  morning's  storm,  found  to  be  the 
wild  New  England  shore.  I  am  glad  to  pay  them  the 
tribute  of  Massachusetts,  for,  as  the  germ  of  the  oak  is  in 
the  acorn,  the  germ  of  our  Commonwealth,  alike  in  herself 
and  as  she  represents  the  nation  at  large,  was  in  the 
group  which  clustered  that  December  day  on  Plymouth 
Rock. 

In  responding  for  her  I  speak  for  no  class  or  calling, 
but  for  all  her  men  and  women.  I  rejoice  that  she  is 
to-day  —  on  a  larger  scale  —  just  what  the  Pilgrim  com- 
munity was,  more  than  two  centuries  and  a  half  ago,  —  a 
community  the  virtue  of  which  is  not  in  its  governors,  or 
preachers,  or  captains,  but  in  its  homes  and  firesides,  its 
families  like  those  in  the  picture  in  Pilgrim  Hall,  and  its 
plain  men  and  women  who  live  temperate,  pure,  and 
wholesome  lives,  who  constitute  the  ranks  of  a  stable  citi- 
zenship, who  go  about  their  daily  toil,  who  sustain  our 
schools,  and  who  are  the  foundations  of  society.     It  is 


FOREFATHERS'  DAY.  125 

Miles  Standish  still  who  stands  ready  at  call  to  shoulder 
his  musket  for  the  common  defense.  It  is  Elder  Brewster 
still  who  pitches  the  popular  sentiment,  and  discharges 
whatever  public  or  private  duty  falls  to  his  hands.  It  is 
PrisciUa  still  who  is  the  saint  of  the  New  England  home, 
—  sweetheart,  wife,  or  mother. 

Massachusetts  has,  perhaps,  her  faults ;  but  if  so,  they 
are  of  the  surface.  Her  heart  beats  always  true  and 
sound.  There  is  the  ideal  as  well  as  the  historic  life  in 
states  as  there  is  in  men.  Charles  Lamb,  looking  at 
the  epitaphs  in  a  graveyard,  asked  where  all  the  bad 
people  were  buried.  It  was  wit ;  it  was  not  wisdom. 
There  was  not  a  record  there  that  did  not  truly  teU 
the  ideal  life,  which  was  the  only  thing  worth  telling, 
and  which,  through  whatever  sin  or  folly,  the  poor  heart 
that  lay  beneath  had  recognized  and  aspired  to  reach. 
And  so  of  the  Commonwealth,  the  question  to  be  asked 
is.  What  is  its  ideal  ?  You  know  what  it  is.  You  recog- 
nize it  by  your  coming  here.  You  read  it  in  the  verse  of 
Whittier.  You  read  it  in  the  blundering  scrawl,  in 
which  the  Massachusetts  boy,  writhing  over  his  first  com- 
position, tries  to  express  the  aspiration  he  has  drunk  in 
from  the  very  air.  You  read  it  in  the  unerring  public 
sentiment  to  which  there  still  lies  an  appeal  from  all  arti- 
ficial tribunals.  It  is  not  wealth  ;  it  is  not  power  ;  it  is 
not  the  survival  of  the  fittest :  it  is  the  consecration  of 
all  to  the  happiness  and  freedom  of  each  one  ;  it  is  the 
recognition  of  the  value  of  a  single  human  soul.  Under 
such  a  test  the  glory  of  the  Roman  soldier,  of  Grecian 
art,  of  kingdoms  and  empires,  fades  away.  The  Pilgrim 
and  the  Puritan  stand  forth.  John  Carver  and  John 
Winthro|)  reach  down  and  clasp  the  hands  alike  of  John 
Andrew  and  of  a  hospital  nurse.     The  fire  gleams  on  a 


126  FOREFATHERS'   DAY. 

farmer's  hearth,  at  which  an  eager-eyed  boy  reads  a  book. 
The  son  of  a  New  England  missionary  devotes  his  life  to 
the  education  of  the  shy  and  bruised  Indian,  as  well  as 
of  the  enfranchised  slave,  to  deliver  whom  from  bondage 
he  had  already  risked  his  life  in  battle.  The  freemen  of 
a  town  gather  in  a  homely  shed  to  raise  money  by  taxa- 
tion, and  to  discuss  the  laying  out  of  a  way.  A  mother 
kisses  her  son  as  he  goes  to  fight  for  his  country,  and 
looks  not  on  his  face  again  until  it  cannot  answer  back 
her  tears.  A  housewife,  her  table  cleared,  runs  to  visit 
the  sick.  There  is  no  village  in  which  are  not  the 
schoolroom,  the  library,  the  town  house,  and  the  church. 
Thrift  and  industry  are  indoors  and  out  of  doors  ;  wealth 
and  labor  alike  mean  refinement  and  growth.  And  amid 
this  scene  he  is  greatest  who  is  the  servant  of  all. 

It  is  all  the  enlarged  expression  of  what  was  in  the 
heart  and  faith  of  the  Pilgrim.  Across  the  years  Massa- 
chusetts pays  him  her  tribute  of  gratitude  and  love. 


THE  OLD  SIXTH. 

At  the  Dinner  of  the  Regimental  Association,  at  Lowell, 
April  19,  1881. 

I  KNOW  I  need  not  assure  you,  Mr.  President,  of  my 
sincere  interest  in  the  celebration  of  this  anniversary. 
Personally,  I  cannot  forget  that  among  the  members  of 
the  Sixth  were  not  only  those  who  were  friends  of  mine 
when  I  lived  in  this  part  of  Middlesex  County,  but  young 
men  to  whom  I  was  teacher  and  companion  at  the  acad- 
emy in  Westford.  And  as  the  exercises  in  the  square  re- 
call the  memory  of  the  first  martyrs  of  the  regiment,  I 
feel,  too,  a  just  pride  that  two  of  them  were  bom  in  my 
own  native  State.  But  far  above  all  personal  considera- 
tions is  the  tender,  thrilling,  eternal  interest  which  the 
Commonwealth  which  I  have  the  honor,  at  this  time,  to 
represent,  forever  feels  in  every  soldier,  every  name,  every 
event,  that  attaches  to  her  Old  Sixth  regiment.  It  was 
the  first  to  march  to  the  front ;  the  first  to  spill  its  blood ; 
the  first  to  throw  around  the  national  capital  in  its  de- 
fense that  living  wall  of  patriotism  which  from  that  time 
forward  never  was  broken.  Its  name  recalls  the  heart- 
throb of  Andrew,  whose  tender  message,  vibrating  along 
the  electric  wires,  electrified  at  the  same  time  the  finer 
wires  of  the  soul  of  the  whole  republic,  and  whose  noble 
oration  over  the  graves  of  Ladd  and  Whitney  here  in 
your  city's  midst  still  echoes  in  your  ears.  It  recalls,  too, 
the  beginning  of  the  brightest  part  of  the  career  of  that 
distinguished  citizen  of  Lowell,  whose  earnest  political  op- 


128  THE  OLD  SIXTH. 

ponent  I  have  been  and  am,  but  whose  patriotic,  prompt, 
and  incisive  services  in  the  war  for  union  and  liberty  I 
never  forget.  And,  finally,  it  links  forever  the  nineteenth 
of  April,  1775,  and  the  nineteenth  of  April,  1861,  —  the 
villao:es  and  farms  of  Middlesex  and  the  streets  of  Balti- 
more,  —  and  has  made  it  the  reddest-letter  day  in  the  his- 
tory of  American  independence  and  equal  rights. 

What  an  exquisite  tribute  it  is  to  the  immortality  of 
the  human  soul,  that  what  we  call  a  great  event  is  never 
in  the  event  itself,  but  in  the  sentiment,  the  unseen,  intan- 
gible, immortal  idea  for  which  the  event  stands!  Prick 
my  finger  with  a  penknife,  and  the  blood  that  flows  from 
the  wound  cannot  be  distinguished  from  that  which  ran 
from  the  patriotic  veins  of  Needham  or  Whitney.  The 
ranks  which  marched  that  day  through  Baltimore  are  ex- 
actly, in  material  and  character,  like  those  of  the  Mechanic 
Phalanx,  under  whose  graceful  escort  we  have  just  paraded 
these  peaceful  streets.  But  the  names  of  those  martyrs 
and  of  the  companies  that  stood  at  bay  in  the  Monumental 
City  are  as  eternal  as  the  memory  of  Thermopylae,  while 
we  are  only  the  ephemeral  motes  of  a  sunbeam.  Show  to 
Agassiz  but  the  fragments  of  a  bone,  and  to  his  illumined 
intelligence  the  whole  animal  of  which  that  bone  was  once 
a  part  stands  forth  complete.  And  so  mention  hereafter 
to  the  world  the  crimsoned  church  green  at  Lexington  or 
the  blood  of  the  Sixth  sprinkling  the  Baltimore  pave- 
ments, and  lo !  there  will  lie  outstretched  the  whole  story 
of  the  Revolution,  culminating  in  independence,  and  the 
whole  story  of  the  war  of  the  Rebellion,  culminating  in 
universal  liberty.  They  are  the  red  milestones  of  his- 
tory. 

The  words  we  use  on  these  occasions  are  fervid.  And 
yet  how  weak  they  are !     The  scene  we  now  recall  will 


THE  OLD  SIXTH.  129 

never  have  its  true  grandeur  till  centuries  hence  shall 
give  it  a  background  and  make  it  stand  out  like  the  glory 
of  a  cloud  on  the  horizon  at  sunrise.  Proud  may  you  and 
your  children  be  that  you  were  actors  in  that  scene. 
Memory,  vivid  as  it  is,  can  hardly  restore  it  to  you,  —  the 
intense  patriotic  rush  of  feeling  at  the  north,  —  the  elec- 
trifying call  to  arms,  —  the  rallying  at  Boston,  —  the  sym- 
pathies of  friends,  bursting  from  window  and  door  and 
pavement,  bidding  you  adieu  and  swearing  an  eternal 
gratitude,  to  which  the  Commonwealth  has  never  been 
unfaithful,  —  the  acclaim  of  city  after  city  as  you  went  on 
to  the  defense  of  the  national  capitol,  —  and  the  intense 
hour,  twenty  years  ago  this  day,  when  you  first  met  the 
mad  torrent  of  treason,  bore  its  insults  and  murder,  and 
rolled  it  back  forever.  It  was  great  because  it  was  typi- 
cal. It  was  freedom  confronting  slavery,  —  loyalty  against 
treason,  —  the  civilization  of  Massachusetts,  the  dignity  of 
labor  represented  by  her  mechanics,  the  common  school 
represented  by  her  young  heroes  rushing  from  farm  and 
desk  and  shop,  against  the  barbarism  of  caste.  Well  may 
Middlesex  County,  well  may  these  fair  cities  of  Lowell 
and  Lawrence,  well  may  these  clustering  villages  that 
contributed  to  that  day,  cherish  with  undying  pride  the 
memory  of  their  heroes.  For  the  Commonwealth  I  gladly 
bring  her  tears,  her  tributes,  to  mingle  with  your  own, 
and  I  thank  you  for  every  pageant,  every  trumpet-blast, 
every  drum-beat,  every  eloquent  word  with  which  you 
hand  down  for  the  education  of  her  children  these  lessons 
of  patriotism. 

Mr.  President,  freshly  impressed  as  I  am  with  the  pe- 
culiar relation  of  the  Commonwealth  to  the  Sixth,  —  the 
most  dramatic  and  memorable  of  her  regiments,  —  forgive 
me  if  I  say,  with  what  pride  I  should  place  in  the  execu- 


130  THE  OLD  SIXTH. 

tive  chamber,  where  sat  Andrew  who  gloried  so  in  your 
glory,  there  to  be  kept,  except  as  from  time  to  time  your 
regiment  or  its  association  desire  them,  these  your  colors, 
in  the  disposition  of  which  my  judgment  has  been  invited. 
It  is  no  mere  question  of  ownership.  They  are  the  com- 
mon glory  of  the  Commonwealth.  It  was  an  acute  law- 
yer —  the  meanest  things  are  always  attributed  to  the 
lawyers,  Mr.  President  —  who,  when  two  fishermen  dis- 
puted over  an  oyster,  gave  a  half  shell  to  each  and  kept 
the  pearl  that  lay  between  for  his  own  fee.  I  would  fol- 
low his  example  and  take  these  your  pearls  of  great  price, 
but  not,  like  him,  for  myself.  I  would  hang  them  where, 
henceforth,  they  will  tell  me  and  my  successors,  and  legis- 
lature after  legislature,  and  the  whole  people,  the  story  of 
the  gallant  Sixth,  —  the  story  of  the  mechanics  and  farm- 
ers who  showed  what  is  this  American  people  who  are 
at  once  citizens  and  soldiers,  and  who  know  not  only  how 
to  make  and  conduct  a  government,  but  how  to  defend  it. 
Let  them  tell  the  story  of  the  tragic  march  through  Balti- 
more, —  the  story  of  the  martyrdom  of  Taylor,  Needham, 
Ladd,  and  Whitney,  and  of  the  services  of  those  other 
still  living  heroes  whom  I  forbear  to  name  lest  I  omit  any. 
And  when,  in  some  future  crisis,  Massachusetts  again  calls 
to  arms,  let  her  sons  look  up  to  them  and  feel  their  blood 
tingle  to  be  worthy  to  rank  with  the  heroes  of  1861,  as 
you,  twenty  years  ago  this  day,  proved  yourselves  worthy, 
in  the  judgment  of  your  countrymen  and  of  history,  to 
rank  with  the  heroes  of  1775. 


ADDRESS 

At  the  Dedication  of  Oakes  Ames  Memorial  Building, 
Easton,  Mass.,  November  17,  1881. 

What  a  tender  New  England  feeling  is  in  the  legend, 
engraved  in  letters  of  stone,  which  met  our  eyes  as  we 
entered  these  doors  :  "  This  building  was  erected  in  mem- 
ory of  Oakes  Ames  by  his  children."  One  hardly  knows 
whether  such  a  splendid  edifice  reflects  more  credit  upon 
the  father  to  whose  memory  and  in  honor  of  whose  great 
enterprise  and  public  spirit  it  has  been  reared,  or  upon 
the  sons  who  have  exhibited  such  generous  measure  of 
filial  love  and  piety. 

Oakes  Ames  sat  in  the  council  of  John  A.  Andrew  and 
helped  him  fight  the  good  fight  for  freedom.  Transferred 
to  the  national  councils,  it  was  the  power  of  his  will  and 
genius  that  conquered  the  snows  and  peaks  of  the  Rocky 
Mountains,  and  put  an  iron  girdle  round  about  the 
American  continent  in  forty  minutes.  It  was  a  gigantic 
work  which  hardly  any  other  hand  was  strong  enough  to 
undertake,  and  to  which  to-day  no  man  who  knew  him 
doubts  that  he  brought  also  the  patriotic  purpose  of  bind- 
ing closer  the  Union,  the  peril  of  which  he  had  just  seen, 
and  of  putting  it  still  more  rapidly  forward  on  the  road 
of  its  mighty  development.  Here,  too,  at  home  behold 
memorials  of  his  benevolence  which  stand  all  around  us 
in  this  his  native  town,  bequeathed  by  him  to  his  sons  in 
that  spirit  of  enterprise  which  is  their  richest  and  best 
inheritance,  and  consummated  by  them  in  these  comfort- 
able homes  of  labor. 


132  OAKES  AMES. 

What  a  compendium  of  American  history  is  such  a 
wondrous  American  life  !  The  early  struggles ;  the  com- 
mon-school education;  the  apprenticeship  to  an  humble 
trade ;  the  blacksmith's  swinging  arm ;  the  best  pride  of 
New  England  blood  and  ancestry  ;  the  institution  of  spe- 
cial lines  of  manufacture  and  art;  their  steady  enlarge- 
ment ;  the  outgrowth  then  of  larger  purposes ;  the  growing 
interest  in  the  public  weal  and  progress ;  the  respect  won 
from  fellow-citizens ;  the  elevation  to  high  place  and  oppor- 
tunity ;  the  ultimate  conquering  of  fortune  ;  and  the  crown- 
ing achievement  of  success  and  a  name  !  It  is  a  tribute, 
as  are  this  occasion  and  building,  not  to  American  wealth, 
but  to  American  worth  and  American  growth. 

Yet  let  me  turn  again  and  congratulate  the  sons  who, 
mindful  at  once  of  good  taste  and  utility,  have  paid  this 
tribute  of  their  filial  affection  and  gratitude  to  the  father 
whom  none  could  know  as  they  knew  him,  and  whose 
heart,  if  ever  the  sorrows  which  fall  on  all  weighed  it 
down,  found  life  worth  living  in  their  love  and  in  a  loy- 
alty, which,  surviving  the  grave,  holds  no  trust  so  sacred 
as  the  honor  of  bis  name.  The  father's  memory,  —  the 
memory  of  him  who,  remembering  his  own  boyhood,  de- 
termined that  ours  should  lack  no  help  that  he  could  give 
it ;  who  stood  to  our  youth  the  very  soul  of  honor  and 
nobility  ;  who  led  us  by  the  hand ;  who  taught  us  our 
first  lessons ;  whose  heart,  as  now  so  well  we  know,  yearned 
toward  us  with  so  much  hope  and  pride  and  longing ;  the 
greeting  smile  of  whose  face  and  the  clasp  of  whose  hand 
come  back  to  us  in  dreams  ;  and  whom  death  even  takes 
not  from  us,  but  only  the  more  clearly  reveals  to  us  as 
the  truest  friend  we  ever  knew  !  —  we  each  of  us  erect  to 
our  father's  memory  our  monument,  though  not  like  this. 
With  most  of  us  it  is  a  modest  headstone,  and  the  green 


OAKES  AMES.  133 

turf  wet  with  our  tears.  But  we  can  all  share  in  the  feel- 
ings that  have  given  birth  to  this  magnificent  memorial, — 
not  a  cumbrous  and  curious  obelisk  fantastically  cut  with 
characters  that  time  shall  shatter  and  future  ages  be  un- 
able to  decipher  ;  not  a  cold,  forbidding  mausoleum,  sug- 
gestive of  death  and  decay,  and  rotting  into  the  earth,  — 
not  a  monumental  arch  to  which  the  idle  creeping  ivy 
clings,  and  through  which  howl  the  barren  winds,  but  a 
great  hall  warm  with  life  and  activity,  for  the  meeting 
of  townsmen  and  free  citizens,  where  the  public  interest, 
which  so  stirred  the  heart  of  Oakes  Ames,  shall  have 
voice ;  where  the  welfare  of  the  people  shall  be  promoted ; 
where  thrifty  industry  shall  send  its  representatives ; 
where  refining  amusements  shall  delight  them;  where 
orators  shall  speak,  and  song  and  music  swell ;  and  where 
he  shall  still  live  for  years  to  come  in  the  hearts  of  the 
people  of  this  town,  and  in  the  larger  and  more  enlight- 
ened life  to  which  his  works  so  largely  contributed. 


LONGFELLOW. 

At  Unitarian  Church,  East  Boston,  April  2, 1882. 

It  was  a  delightful  thought  to  devote  the  April  softness 
of  this  Sunday  afternoon,  this  best  day  of  our  cheerful 
and  sunny  religion,  to  Longfellow,  —  to  the  companion- 
ship of  a  gentle  poet,  and  to  the  influence  of  a  spirit 
which  now,  and  for  time  to  come,  will  mellow  our  sad- 
nesses with  tender  hymns  of  resignation,  will  inspire  us 
far  up  the  heights  with  his  song,  and  will  fill  our  lives, 
though  we  grow  to  be  bent  and  gray,  with  children's 
hours.  We  are  here  to  sing  with  him,  not  to  mourn  him. 
Why  is  it  that  we  used  to  shudder  at  this  death,  which 
now  we  find  only  strings  the  chords  of  a  more  compre- 
hending love,  and  opens  full  to  view  the  sweetness  and 
light  which  the  dust  of  life  haK  hid  before  ?  Have  you 
not  looked  at  a  picture,  and  only  been  blinded  by  the  sun- 
beam that  shot  across  it  ?  It  was  not  till  the  sunbeam 
went  out  that  the  lineaments  stood  forth  relieved  and  dis- 
tinct. What  a  poor  and  meagre  chain  of  little-meaning 
links  is  this  narrative  of  dates  and  events  which  we  some- 
times call  a  man's  life !  It  is  of  little  consequence,  ex- 
cept for  the  dear  association's  sake,  what  was  the  name  or 
residence  or  birthplace  or  age  of  the  poet.  Of  what  in- 
terest to  us  is  even  the  great  globe  of  the  sun  in  itself, 
compared  with  the  radiance  which  is  its  soul  and  which 
fills  the  universe  with  light !  Do  not  tell  me  that  Long- 
fellow was  born,  and  had  honors  and  degrees  and  a  pro- 
fessorship, and  crossed  the  seas ;   for  these  things  come 


LONGFELLOW.  135 

and  go,  and  now  flash,  now  faint.  But  tell  me  that  his 
mind  was  full  of  gentle  and  ennobling  thoughts,  for  these 
live  forever.  Tell  me  that  he  loved  children,  and  wrote 
songs  for  them  and  of  them ;  and  let  me  hear  my  little 
girl,  as  she  comes  down  the  happy  morning  stairway, 
repeat  untaught  the  verses  which  he  made,  and  which  are 
a  bridge  from  his  soul  to  hers,  and  from  all  human  souls 
to  one  another.  The  material  is  nothing,  and  dies ;  but 
the  soul  sings  on,  and,  in  these  tributes  which  we  and 
many  another  assembly  are  paying  it,  we  are  asserting  and 
proving  its  immortality.  When  some  poor  creature,  with 
nothing  but  a  throne  and  a  crown,  dies,  his  subjects  hail 
his  successor,  and  shout.  The  king  is  dead,  long  live  the 
king  !  When  our  king,  the  poet,  is  laid  to  rest,  we  may 
well  cry.  The  poet  is  dead,  long  live  the  poet !  For  he 
succeeds  himself,  and  is  dead  only  to  live,  even  on  earth, 
a  larger  and  more  present  life  in  his  verse,  and  in  the 
songs  and  hearts  of  the  people. 

It  is  a  poor  commonplace  to  say  that  Longfellow  is  the 
poet  of  the  people,  for  no  poet  is  a  great  or  true  poet  who 
is  not  that.  And  what  a  tribute  is  this  to  our  common 
humanity !  Lives  of  great  men  all  remind  us  not  so  much 
that  we  can  make  our  lives  sublime,  as  that  our  lives  are 
sublime,  if  only  we  will  not  cumber  or  debase  them.  Not 
by  putting  into  melody  something  that  is  beyond  and 
above  you  and  me,  not  by  breathing  a  music  so  strained 
that  it  never  trembles  in  our  fancies  and  prayers,  does  the 
poet  rise  to  excellence,  but  by  voicing  the  affections,  the 
finer  purpose,  the  noblenesses,  that  are  in  the  great  common 
nature,  —  in  the  sailor  up  the  shrouds,  in  the  maiden 
lashed  to  the  floating  mast,  in  the  mother  laying  away  her 
child,  in  the  schoolboy  at  his  task  or  play,  or  counting  the 
sparks  that  fly  from  the  blacksmith's  forge,  in  the  man  at 


136  LONGFELLOW. 

his  work  or,  wlien  lie  rests  from  it,  raided  by  blue-eyed 
banditti  from  the  stairway  and  the  hall.  So  the  poet 
teaches  us  not  our  disparity  from  him  but  our  level  with 
him ;  not  our  meanness,  but  our  loftiness.  Let  us  not 
forget  that  he  owes  as  much  to  those  who  inspire  him  tc 
sing  their  thoughts,  as  they  to  him  for  singing  them.  The 
music  he  wrote  is  all  lying  unwritten  in  us.  Let  us  sing 
it  in  our  lives,  which  we  can,  as  he  sung  it  from  his  pen, 
which  we  cannot. 

It  was  a  beautiful  life.  It  was  felicitous  beyond  ordi- 
nary lot.  The  birds  sang  in  its  branches.  The  sun  shone 
and  the  April  showers  fell  softly  upon  it.  And,  while  he 
now  slumbers,  let  us  read  his  verse  anew.  With  his 
hymns  in  our  ears,  may  we,  like  him,  leave  behind  us  foot- 
prints in  the  sands  of  time ;  may  our  sadness  resemble 
sorrow  only  as  the  mist  resembles  the  rain  ;  may  we  know 
how  sublime  a  thing  it  is  to  suffer  and  be  strong ;  may  we 
wake  the  better  soul  that  slumbered  to  a  holy,  calm  de- 
light ;  may  we  never  mistake  heaven's  distant  lamps  for 
sad,  funereal  tapers ;  and  may  we  ever  hear  the  voice  from 
the  sky  like  a  falling  star,  —  Excelsior ! 


ADDRESS 

At  the  Celebration  of  the  Two  Hundredth  Anniversary 
OF  THE  Building  of  the  Old  Meeting-House  at  Hingham, 
Mass.,  August  8,  1881. 

It  was  to  be  presumed,  as  indeed  the  event  has  shown, 
that  nothing  due  to  the  anniversary  we  celebrate,  whether 
of  tender  memories,  of  grateful  tribute,  of  lesson  from  the 
past  or  suggestion  for  the  future,  would  be  left  unsaid  by 
an  orator  [Charles  Eliot  Norton]  so  fitting  to  the  occasion 
alike  in  himself  and  in  his  descent  from  the  first  minis- 
ter who  preached  within  these  walls.  Yet,  even  as  when 
we  honor  some  man  distinguished  for  nobility  of  life,  or 
greatness  of  achievement,  or  the  ripe  and  venerated  per- 
fection of  age,  we  crowd  around  him  to  add  to  our  spokes- 
man's word  our  own  loving  salutation  or  even  the  mute 
pressure  of  the  hand ;  so  to-day,  though  we  but  repeat  the 
thoughts  already  better  spoken,  we  throng  this  ancient 
shrine,  we  venerate  these  ancient  walls,  we  reach  through 
the  centuries  to  grasp  the  hand  of  Peter  Hobart  or  John 
Norton  and  from  full  hearts  we  cannot  but  speak  our  word 
of  gratitude  and  affection.  In  such  a  spirit  we  stand  here 
no  longer  as  we  should  stand  in  any  other  house.  I  look 
not  alone  upon  the  scene  that  fills  the  outward  eye.  These 
pews,  these  faces,  these  costumes,  disappear,  and  in  place 
of  all  this  the  unceiled  rafters  are  over  my  head ;  no  paint 
discolors  the  wood ;  the  rude  carving  of  the  axe  is  the 
only  decoration ;  oaken,  unbacked  benches  fiU  the  floor, 
the  women  on  one  side,  the  men  on  the  other ;  the  musket 


138  HINGHAM. 

leans  against  the  knee ;  and  the  stern  face  of  the  English 
Puritan,  clad  in  the  garb  of  his  day,  a  subject  of  King 
Charles,  yet  never  a  slave  to  him  or  to  the  forms  of  his 
church,  looks  back  upon  my  gaze. 

As  a  member  of  this  parish,  though  of  a  branch  of  it 
springing  from  the  same  deep  root,  —  as  a  citizen  of  this 
ancient  town,  which  in  its  municipal  capacity,  and  at  the 
common  charge,  bought  this  land  and  built  this  house,  and 
for  aught  I  know  still  owns  it,  at  least  so  far  as  to  be  en- 
titled to  share  in  its  preservation  and  honor,  and  which 
for  more  than  a  hundred  years  here  had  its  town-meetings 
and  discussed  great  themes  of  public  right  and  safety  and 
of  civil  liberty,  —  and,  finally,  as  a  representative  of  the 
Commonwealth  which  counts  in  all  its  borders  no  church 
edifice  so  old  and  so  sacred  as  this,  I  come  to  lay  my  gift 
upon  its  altar,  and  to  pay  my  tribute  to  the  men  who 
raised  its  frame,  to  the  men  who  have  handed  it  down  as 
a  sacred  trust,  and  to  the  men  in  whose  loyal  keeping  it 
is  to-day.  Indeed  it  is  not  unfitting  that  the  Common- 
wealth should  have  a  special  interest  in  this  building ;  for, 
when  in  1681  a  difference  of  opinion  arose  as  to  where  it 
should  be  set,  as  such  differences  sometimes  have  arisen 
in  the  best  regulated  New  England  religious  societies,  it 
was  the  governor  who,  with  unhesitating  disregard  of  the 
wishes  of  the  parish,  took  the  matter  into  his  own  hands 
and  ordered  the  house  to  be  set  on  the  spot  where  it  now 
stands.  And  as  everybody  is  to-day  content  with  that 
and  would  regard  any  suggestion  of  a  change  as  sacrilege, 
it  is  a  significant  illustration  of  how  superior  is  the  judg- 
ment of  a  governor  to  that  of  all  others,  and  how  much 
better  he  can  direct  the  affairs  of  people  than  they  can 
themselves.  Alas!  I  fear  his  authority  has  since  then 
been  greatly  impaired,  and  if  he  were  now  to  interfere 


HINGHAM.  139 

witli  the  slightest  detail  of  parish  administration,  his  occu- 
pation would  soon  be  gone. 

The  nineteenth  century  will  not  again  see  such  an  anni- 
versary as  this,  —  the  celebration  of  the  two  hundredth 
anniversary  of  the  raising  of  a  Puritan  meeting-house,  — 
no  other  so  old  still  used  for  Protestant  public  worship  in 
the  United  States.  Of  the  five  successive  ministers  who 
have  preached  from  its  pulpit,  the  last  still  lives,  and  is 
to-day  the  sole  pastor  of  its  congregation.  Still  more  re- 
markable is  the  fact  that,  during  the  two  hundred  and 
fifty  years'  existence  of  the  parish,  six  ministers  span  the 
whole  period.  And  may  not  such  a  parish,  yes,  may  not 
this  town,  may  not  Massachusetts,  turn  with  pride  to  the 
list.  One  a  graduate  from  Magdalen  College,  Cambridge, 
four  from  Harvard,  and  one  from  Dartmouth.  Peter  Ho- 
bart,  the  Sam  Adams  of  the  colony,  known  as  an  apostle 
of  civil  liberty  even  more  than  as  a  preacher  of  the  gos- 
pel ;  John  Norton,  who  exemplified  and  taught  the  Chris- 
tian life,  and  bore  a  name  honored  from  that  day  to  this 
in  the  church  and  in  letters ;  Ebenezer  Gay,  who  sounded 
the  evangel  of  that  more  liberal  faith  which  found  its 
highest  expression  in  Channing  and  its  fruit  in  the  abso- 
lute religious  freedom  of  to-day;  Henry  Ware,  another 
revered  Unitarian  name,  suggestive  of  the  refinement  of 
learning  and  the  culture  of  college  halls ;  Joseph  Richard- 
son, who,  preceding  John  Quincy  Adams  in  Congress,  thus 
reunited  church  and  state ;  Calvin  Lincoln,  the  beloved 
friend  and  neighbor  of  us  all,  as  saintly  in  his  life  as  in 
his  face,  whom  God  has  spared  to  enjoy  this  day,  and 
whom  may  He  yet  spare  for  many  years  to  enjoy  the  un- 
bounded respect  and  love  of  all,  irrespective  of  church  or 
creed,  who  know  him ;  and  with  these,  also,  Edward  Hor- 
ton,  who  has  transferred  the  promise  of  his  brilliant  tal- 


140  HINGHAM. 

ents  from  this  to  a  larger  but  not  a  better  field !  Well 
may  Massachusetts  hold  in  high  and  sacred  esteem  a 
church  which  through  such  men  as  Peter  Hobart  and  his 
successors  has,  in  the  spirit  of  the  highest  independence, 
made  its  deep  mark  upon  the  tablets  of  civil  liberty  and 
religious  thought.  In  that  spirit  of  independence  I  find 
the  seeds  of  our  patriotic  and  free-thinking  people  and 
Commonwealth.  In  that  I  find,  also,  the  cause  of  the  sep- 
aration —  a  separation  that  to-day  exists  only  in  tradition 
and  name,  and  no  longer  in  the  hearts  of  either  people  — 
which  led  to  the  formation  of  the  society  of  which  the  ven- 
erable Dr.  Henry  A.  Miles  is  now  the  honored  head.  In 
that  spirit  of  independence,  too,  I  find  the  seeds  of  the 
paradox  of  that  toleration,  blooming  out  from  the  most 
uncompromising  intolerance,  which  has  since  made  this 
land  an  asylum  for  mankind,  not  alone  for  all  classes  of 
men,  but  for  all  shades  of  opinion,  —  also  of  that  free  in- 
quiry which  has  laid  the  whole  world,  the  world  of  matter 
and  of  soul,  open  to  the  touch  of  science  and  philosophy, 
— of  that  education  which  has  made  the  dream  of  equality 
a  homely  fact,  —  of  that  politics  which  has  made  ours  in- 
deed a  government  of  all  the  people.  Were  it  mine  to 
speak  at  length  to-day,  my  theme  should  be  the  relation 
of  this  ancient  meeting-house  to  civil  government  and 
civil  liberty,  which  have  here  always  gone  hand  in  hand 
with  the  worship  of  God  whose  liberty  maketh  free,  and 
in  behalf  of  which  this  parish  has  sent  its  sons  to  their 
country's  defense  alike  in  the  war  for  independence  and 
the  war  for  union  and  freedom,  —  and  not  only  to  the 
field,  but  also  to  the  councils  of  the  Commonwealth  and 
of  the  republic.  I  would  speak  of  it  as  a  school  and  acad- 
emy of  training  for  the  duties  of  the  citizen,  the  whole- 
someness  of  social  life,  the  integrity  of  town  and  state. 


HINGHAM.  141 

And  is  not  this  typified  in  the  very  environments  that  sur- 
round us  this  midsummer  day,  —  this  happy,  prosperous, 
enlightened  community  of  Christian  homes,  this  activity 
of  life  and  growth  where  once  the  quiet  of  the  forest 
slept?  Yes,  and  this  clustering  and  beautiful  burying- 
ground,  where  death  loses  its  terrors  in  the  softness  of  re- 
pose beneath  the  leaves,  and  where  now  sleep  not  only  the 
first  settlers  of  Hingham,  but  the  good  and  great  and  true 
who  came  after  them,  —  the  early  pastors  of  this  church, 
—  the  Thaxters  of  provincial  fame  in  civil  and  military 
life,  —  that  revolutionary  hero,  General  Lincoln,  who  re- 
ceived Cornwallis's  sword  at  Yorktown,  —  and  John  An- 
drew, that  governor  so  dear  to  Massachusetts  that  only  his 
name  can  be  spoken,  but  never  expression  given  to  the 
love  she  bore  him,  —  all  these  a  part  of  the  spirit  of  the 
thing  we  commemorate,  and  so  all  one  with  this  parish 
and  these  hallowed  walls.  Can  we  take  in  all  this,  and 
all  that  the  day  recalls,  and  puts  us  in  harmony  with  for 
two  hundred  and  fifty  years,  and  not  rise  to  higher  levels 
of  feeling  and  of  purpose?  In  1869  the  pastor  of  this 
society.  Rev.  Mr.  Lincoln,  said :  "  Only  twelve  years  are 
wanting  to  complete  two  centuries  since  our  fathers  first 
assembled  for  Christian  worship  beneath  this  roof."  Lo  ! 
the  circle  is  rounded  and  the  centuries  are  full.  It  shall 
be  but  a  span  and  some  one  will  say,  "  Only  twelve  years 
are  wanting  to  complete  three  centuries."  And,  almost 
as  soon,  the  finger  of  time  will  point  their  fulfillment,  also. 
What  shall  they  say  of  us  ?  I  trust  it  will  be  a  word,  — 
as  ours  is  to-day,  not  of  reproach  but  of  honor,  —  of  a 
church  stiU  inspiring  an  enlightened  and  fearless  faith 
and  a  pure  life,  —  of  a  town  still  loyal  to  good  morals  and 
advanced  education,  —  of  a  Commonwealth  still  fortunate 
in  the  happiness,  the  intelligence,  the  progress  of  its  peo- 


142  HINGHAM. 

pie.  Surely  may  these  walls  tlien  still  rise ;  this  roof  still 
echo  back  the  voice  of  the  preacher  and  choir;  these 
rough-hewn  timbers  still  be  wreathed  with  the  memory- 
wreaths  of  1681,  1781,  1881.  Mr.  Solomon  Lincoln,  a 
distinguished  son  of  Hingham  and  her  historian,  loyal  to 
her  honor  and  to  this  her  chiefest  pride,  is  with  us  to-day, 
no  one  with  a  finer  enthusiasm,  not  in  person  but  in 
spirit  and  in  the  presence  of  his  sons  who  have  so  admi- 
rably taken  part  in  the  exercises  of  the  occasion.  May  I 
not,  in  tribute  to  him  and  in  expression  of  all  our  hearts, 
quote  the  words  he  put  upon  the  parish  seal,  and  say  that, 
whether  the  third  century  shall  be  fulfilled,  or  the  fourth, 
or  the  tenth,  Let  the  Work  of  our  Fathers  stand. 


ADDRESS 

At  the  Dedication  of  Town  Hall,  Hopedale,  Mass.,  Octobeb 

26,  1887. 

The  substantial,  yet  modest,  building  which  we  have 
gathered  to  dedicate  to  the  use  of  the  people  of  this  town 
marks  the  civilization  of  our  time  and  commonwealth  as 
exactly  as  a  clock  tells  the  hour.  It  is  one  of  the  accu- 
rate measures  by  which  the  genius  of  history  will  gauge 
the  moral  and  material  status  of  this  generation,  the  pres- 
ent condition  of  capital  and  labor  in  Massachusetts,  the 
tendency  of  the  creep  of  the  overflow  of  wealth,  the  par- 
ticipation of  the  masses  in  the  good  things  of  the  flesh 
and  the  spirit,  the  elevation  reached  in  the  thermometer 
of  popular  esthetics  and  ideals,  and  the  conscious  obligar 
tion  of  abundance  to  minister  to  common  human  progress. 
The  impulse  that  gave  it  birth  has  its  roots  in  something 
deeper  and  remoter  than  any  personal  benefactor,  any 
family  group  of  sons  of  Israel  however  generous,  or  any 
distinctive  sentiment  of  a  single  community.  It  is  the 
necessary  and  inevitable  evolution,  the  natural  flower  of 
the  seed  of  the  human  soul  when  given  opportunity  to 
spring  to  the  light  and  develop  its  own  capacity  for  benefi- 
cence. 

Could  there  be  a  more  striking  contrast  with  the 
mighty  edifices  of  ancient  time  than  this  modest  building, 
not  large  enough  to  seat  five  hundred  people  !  Yet  the 
contrast  is  all  in  its  favor.  No  happy  labor,  no  freeman's 
cheerful  song,  no  blessed  thought  of  earning  and  saving 


144  HOPEDALE. 

for  wife  and  children  at  home,  went  into  their  founda- 
tions or  made  them  the  artisan's  hall  for  the  exchange 
of  his  toil  and  skill  for  an  equal  share  in  all  the  bless- 
ings of  his  time.  Here  not  a  stone  or  brick  or  joint  that 
was  not  fitted  by  an  American  citizen.  No  secret  springs 
open  its  doors.  No  long  and  darkened  corridors  lead  to 
its  inner  chambers.  No  rotting  mummy  is  to  hide  in  it 
for  five  thousand  years.  No  helmeted  figure  towering 
seventy  feet  into  the  air,  and  armed  with  shield  and  spear, 
suggests  an  age  of  superstition  and  of  war.  No  arena 
under  its  balconies  reeks  with  ancient  stain  of  blood  and 
slaughter.  But  the  democracy  of  a  New  England  town 
gather  in  it  in  the  exercise  of  self-government.  Its  walls 
echo  with  the  debate  of  freemen.  Its  consecration  is  to 
temperance,  the  arts  of  peace,  village  improvement,  and 
the  interests  of  a  simple,  social,  neighborhood  life. 

It  represents  three  things  in  New  England  life.  First, 
the  accumulation  of  wealth,  not  by  an  individual  but  by 
a  community,  and  indicative  not  of  one  rich  man's  pros- 
perity, but  of  the  common  prosperity.  It  is  an  example 
of  good  socialism.  On  this  spot,  some  forty  years  ago, 
one  of  those  communities,  which  spring  up  from  time  to 
time,  and  of  which  so  much  is  anticipated  by  the  enthu- 
siasm of  their  members,  had  undertaken,  under  the  sweet 
guidance  of  the  venerable  and  beloved  Christian  pastor 
who  is  here  to-day,  to  solve  the  problem  of  a  happy,  in- 
dustrious, and  peaceful  Christian  brotherhood.  It  was  a 
joint-stock  association,  sharing  capital  and  profits,  and 
run  on  common  account.  The  result  was  a  practical 
bankruptcy,  averted  only  by  a  change  which  followed  no 
longer  any  transcendental  line,  but  turned  to  the  line  of 
hard,  practical  American  business.  For  George  Draper 
took  the  plant  into  his  vigorous  hand.     An  enlightened 


HOPEDALE.  146 

and  liberal  selfishness  became,  as  it  usually  does,  a  benefi- 
cence to  which  a  weak  communism  was  as  the  dull  and 
cheerless  gleam  of  decaying  punk  to  the  inspiring  blaze  of 
the  morning  sun  in  spring  time.  The  man  of  affairs  was 
in  temporal  things  a  better  leader  than  the  priest,  as  he 
usually  is,  and  as  nobody  will  so  emphatically  assure  you 
as  the  priest  himself.  A  meagre  manufacturing  enter- 
prise that  made  a  few  boxes  and  cotton-spinning  temples 
and  employed  a  dozen  hands,  began  that  marvelous  ex- 
pansion which  in  these  few  years,  under  George  Draper's 
direction,  has  come  to  employ  five  hundred  men ;  has 
grown  from  an  annual  product  of  twenty  thousand  dollars 
to  one  of  more  than  twelve  hundred  thousand  dollars ; 
has  built  and  incorporated  a  Massachusetts  town ;  has 
erected  these  trim,  convenient  houses  and  homes  of  skilled 
and  prosperous  labor ;  has  enlarged  the  original  enter- 
prise into  four  great  business  houses,  and  embraces  one 
of  the  largest  cotton  machinery  manufacturing  centres  in 
the  world. 

In  the  second  place  this  building  stands  for  the  New 
England  town-meeting.  It  thereby  embodies  the  genius 
of  American  political  institutions.  If  there  be  anything 
marked  in  the  personal  history  of  our  American  names, 
it  is  the  independence  of  their  success  and  career  from 
all  the  ordinary  props  of  what  is  supposed  to  be  advanta- 
geous individual  fortune.  What  aid  were  they  to  Abra- 
ham Lincoln,  Ben  Franklin,  Henry  Clay,  Horace  Greeley, 
Henry  Wilson !  It  is  upon  the  unmonopolized  oppor- 
tunities of  American  life  that  the  citizen  only  need  rely, 
laying  hold  of  those  nearest  at  his  hand  to  lift  himself  to 
the  upper  air.  Here  some  of  the  best  of  them  wiU  be  in 
especial  readiness  at  his  command.  Ours  is  more  and 
more  becoming  a  government  of  public  opinion,  and  of 


146  HOPEDALE. 

public  opinion  cumulated  out  of  independent  individual 
research,  digestion,  and  debate.  The  accidental  man  in 
place  is  very  much  the  involuntary  agent  of  the  public 
sentiment  he  represents  —  if  a  right  man,  the  expression 
and  agent  of  the  best  leadings  of  that  sentiment;  if  a 
wrong  man,  then  of  its  hesitations  and  obliquities.  More 
and  more  the  Town  Hall,  or  whatever  the  theatre  of 
public  utterance,  should  tend  to  the  making  of  the  right 
man  and  the  elimination  of  the  wrong  one,  for  more  and 
more,  in  fact  as  well  as  in  person,  the  citizen  is  becoming 
the  sovereign.  And  his  sovereignty,  under  whatever 
guise  of  democratic  forms,  will  be  a  terrific  despotism, 
if  he  be  not  a  patriot  rather  than  a  demagogue,  a  repre- 
sentative rather  of  the  schoolhouse  than  the  grog-shop. 

Undoubtedly  there  is  in  the  near  future  that  danger, 
which,  like  a  weed  springing  out  of  the  very  luxuriance  of 
fertility,  springs  from  the  very  abundance  of  our  pros- 
perity and  freedom.  It  is  the  danger  which  a  writer  in 
a  recent  review  calls  "  a  new  fire  deluge  of  barbarism, 
bursting  out  this  time  not  from  the  outlying  forests  of  the 
north,  but  from  the  volcano  of  human  passions  under- 
neath our  feet."  The  anarchist  is  already  crying  that  the 
constitutional  rule  of  the  majority  is  as  despotic  as  the 
tyranny  of  a  czar.  Against  that  danger  the  forces  which 
this  building  represents  and  which  it  will  concentrate  will 
be  a  bulwark.  That  bulwark  must  be  found  in  a  condi- 
tion of  society  which,  on  the  one  hand,  extends  to  all  a 
participation  in  its  government,  and  on  the  other,  gives 
all  an  access  to  its  blessings,  and  thereby  secures  the 
corresponding  responsibility  that  goes  with  the  adminis- 
tration of  the  one  and  the  enjoyment  of  the  other.  It 
must  be  found  in  a  harmony  of  the  conservative  safe- 
guards of  property,  institutions,  law,  and  order  with  the 


HOPEDALE.  147 

flexible  forces  of  progress.  In  other  words,  the  function 
of  this  hall  is  to  be  a  part  of  the  Christian  Church,  as  I 
doubt  not  it  is  intended  to  be,  not  in  any  ecclesiastical 
sense,  but  in  the  length  and  breadth  of  Christian  civili- 
zation. 

In  the  third  place,  this  hall  commemorates  a  noble  New 
England  life.  George  Draper  deserves  this  strong  and 
simple  memorial.  He  was  a  strong,  simple,  massive 
character.  There  was  granite  in  his  foundations,  and  on 
it  he  erected  a  plain,  substantial,  and  useful  life.  There 
was  in  him,  as  in  this  edifice,  no  attempt  at  useful  orna- 
mentation ;  but  there  were  also  no  poor  timbers.  Every- 
thing was  sound  and  square.  He  had  that  vigor  of  mind 
and  purpose  which  commanded  confidence  and  respect. 
You  would  not  say  he  was  a  great  man,  as  history  applies 
that  word  to  the  exceptional  few.  And  yet  he  was  a 
great  man,  as  one  of  that  master  class  who  dominate  by 
force  of  purpose  and  persistence  in  achievement,  and  who 
lead,  not  because  they  point  the  way,  but  because,  putting 
their  broad  shoulders  to  the  tug,  they  draw  a  whole  com- 
munity along  onward.  In  religion,  a  liberal  Christian ; 
in  temperance,  a  total  abstinent  and  prohibitionist;  in 
politics,  a  Republican  ;  he  had  much  of  that  quality  of  the 
Puritan  which  is  still  left  in  New  England,  and  which, 
flowering  out  into  the  larger  liberality  of  our  day,  has 
been  illustrated  by  so  many  men  whose  faces,  long  famil- 
iar to  us,  have  recently  passed  away.  There  is  always 
satisfaction,  a  sort  of  poetic  fulfillment,  when  men,  com- 
bining brain  and  will,  start,  develop,  and  achieve  material 
enterprises,  master  material  forces,  and  accumulate  mate- 
rial wealth  as  a  sign  of  their  might.  Such  was  George 
Draper,  as  all  who  knew  him  bear  witness.  He  was, 
indeed,  the  architect  of  his  own  fortunes.     His  business 


148  HOPEDALE. 

grasp  was  comprehensive.  He  did  not  sit  in  a  tub,  but 
ranged  the  broad  domain  of  productive  industry,  and  saw 
its  larger  relations.  He  dealt  with  enlarging  results,  and 
could  be  in  no  community  and  not  set  in  motion  the  wheels 
of  enterprise,  manufacture,  product.  Where  he  was,  there 
the  massed  mill-stream  turned  the  wheel,  and  the  artisan's 
hammer  rang. 

Born  in  1817,  the  son  of  an  inventor,  he  added  to  his 
father's  inventive  genius  the  persistence  that  saw  the  in- 
vention wrought  out  to  its  complete  result  and  profitable 
application  to  the  processes  of  manufacture.  A  boy  of 
fourteen,  he  worked  in  a  cotton  mill,  and  learned  the 
principles  of  textile  manufacturing.  Three  years  later, 
relying  on  his  own  individual  energies,  industry,  and 
pluck,  and  not  on  shibboleths,  he  rose  to  overseership. 
He  served  two  years  as  a  designer.  He  became  super- 
intendent of  the  great  Otis  Mills.  And  he  had  meantime 
acquired  what  Richard  Cobden  advised  the  working  classes 
of  England  would  make  them  free  of  the  labor  market  of 
the  world,  to  wit,  an  accumulation  of  twenty  pounds,  for 
he  had  saved,  not  one  hundred,  but  five  thousand  dollars 
from  his  earnings.  This  was  the  cash  capital  he  brought 
to  Hopedale,  in  1853,  thirty-six  years  old.  But  inesti- 
mably greater  was  the  capital  he  brought  of  character, 
energy,  skill,  and  an  inventive  genius,  which  created  forty 
or  fifty  patents  of  his  own,  and  put  into  operation  three  or 
four  hundred.  I  have  already  referred  to  the  change  he 
wrought  in  this  community,  inspiring  life  out  of  death. 
It  was  a  splendid  achievement  of  growth.  It  is  a  poetic 
miniature  of  the  growth  of  that  great  country  of  which 
he  was  so  true  a  patriot,  and  of  which,  in  his  life  struggle, 
he  was  one  of  the  staunchest  upholders,  giving  of  his 
means  to  its  cause,  and  to  its  military  service  his  son,  now 


HOPEDALE.  149 

the  head  of  his  house,  whom  it  was  his  happiness  to  wel- 
come back  from  the  battlefield,  not  on,  but  with,  his 
shield.  He  was  not  of  those  who  regarded  his  country 
as  an  orange,  to  be  squeezed.  He  stood  by  it  in  peace  as 
well  as  in  war.  He  knew  that  it  was  no  cold  abstraction 
for  philosophers  and  theorists  to  dissect  and  diagnose,  but 
a  great  family  of  living  human  souls,  of  men  and  women 
and  children  to  be  made  happy  and  temperate  and  wise, 
clothed  with  the  comforts  of  life  and  blessed  with  the 
refinements  of  homes.  He  knew  that  its  foundation  was 
labor,  the  manual  toil  from  which  his  own  fortune  sprang, 
and  back  to  which  they  stiU  more  and  more  contributed 
as  they  grew.  It  was  from  his  own  experience  in  the  hard 
school  of  a  laboring  man,  and  from  his  later  practical  ob- 
servation of  the  whole  career  of  American  industrial  pro- 
gress that  he  was  for  protecting  his  country  in  its  labor  and 
industries  so  that  the  wages  of  the  one  and  the  prosperity 
of  the  other  should  have  every  advantage  legislation  could 
give  them.  He  was  a  protectionist,  because  he  believed 
he  had  seen  the  withdrawal  of  protection  followed  by 
hardship  to  labor  and  defeat  to  manufacturing  enterprise, 
and  its  return  restoring  both  to  prosperity.  It  was  not  a 
matter  of  theory  with  him,  but  of  practical  business  ad- 
justment, just  as  it  was  in  England  with  Cobden,  who, 
had  he  lived  in  the  United  States,  would  have  advocated 
the  same  policy,  because  they  both  sought  the  same  end, 
—  the  encouragement  of  home  manufactures,  —  and,  as 
practical  men,  took  the  directest  path  to  it  which  the  pecu- 
liar circumstances  of  each  country  suggested. 

To  that  policy  of  protection,  with  honest  conviction, 
George  Draper  gave  allegiance.  He  contributed  largely 
and  effectively  to  its  literature  and  argument.  His  letters 
in  the  newspapers,  his  terse  pamphlets,  are  familiar  as 


150  HOPEDALE. 

household  words.  Of  the  cause  of  temperance  he  was,  by 
precept,  by  example,  by  helping  hand  and  purse,  a  life- 
long and  earnest  advocate  and  pusher.  But  his  best  con- 
tributions are  in  this  village  around  us.  Go  forth  and 
look  upon  the  scene.  Behold  the  farms  redeemed,  th*^ 
sterile  and  rocky  acres  turned  to  fair  fields,  the  two  poor 
shops  of  thirty  years  ago  replaced  by  twenty  solid  and 
capacious  buildings,  all  alive  with  intelligent  labor,  and 
with  machinery  that  seems  almost  intelligent,  the  product, 
largely,  of  his  own  genius.  Behold  a  population  sex- 
tupled  in  numbers  and  in  possessions,  all  drawn  from  this 
plant.  Could  he  speak,  he  would  ask  you,  as  you  look, 
what  man  has  he,  the  protected  protectionist,  robbed  ?  At 
whose  expense,  and  by  despoiling  whom,  has  he  wrought 
this  result  ?  What  farmer  of  the  West,  or  anywhere,  has 
he  robbed  by  creating  this  new  market  for  the  farmer's 
produce  ?  What  element  of  labor  has  he  robbed  by  fur- 
nishing it  this  variety  of  employment  here  and  elsewhere, 
and  enabling  it  not  only  to  support  itself,  but  to  lay  by 
savings?  What  Southern  planter  and  freedman  has  he 
robbed  by  inventing  swifter  means  of  buying  and  con- 
suming their  cotton  crop?  What  consumer  the  broad 
land  over  has  he  subjected  to  a  robber's  tribute  by  so 
developing  his  mechanical  inventions  that  he  has  increased 
the  supply,  improved  the  make,  and  reduced  the  price  of 
textile  fabrics  everywhere  and  for  everybody  ? 

On  the  9th  of  June  last  this  village  was  still.  Its  mills 
were  closed,  its  labors  suspended.  For  its  people  were 
laying  the  body  of  George  Draper  to  rest  beneath  the 
turf.  Not  gloomily,  for  was  it  not  the  poetic  fulfillment 
of  a  fortunate  life  ?  Great  statesmen  have  lived  to  see 
no  face  brighten  at  their  coming,  or  died  counting  all 
their  honors  lost  because  some  later  honor  was  not  won. 


HOPEDALE.  151 

But  when  his  soul  went  up,  it  may  well  have  cast  back 
a  look  of  calm  satisfaction  on  the  work  he  had  done, 
—  complete,  because  still  in  progress ;  happy  groups  of 
families  and  homes  ;  the  fading  sunlight  falling  on  church 
spires  and  schoolroom  windows ;  the  air  tremulous  with 
the  hum  of  happy  and  prosperous  labor ;  behind  him  the 
godspeed  of  grateful  hearts,  before  him  the  "  well  done." 
To-day,  again  the  mills  of  Hopedale  rest,  but  for  a  sunny 
purpose.  In  keeping  with  his  expressed  purpose,  his  chil- 
dren have  erected,  for  the  free  use  of  his  townsmen,  this 
Town  Hall.  We  now  dedicate  it  to  his  memory,  and  to 
the  use  of  the  people  among  whom  and  for  whom  he  lived  ; 
whose  happiness  and  welfare  is  his  best  tribute  ;  and  of 
whom  in  his  career  of  toil  and  triumph,  of  whom  in  his 
simplicity  of  manner  and  living,  of  whom  in  his  temper- 
ance, industry,  and  integrity,  of  whom  in  all  that  makes 
for  honored  American  citizenship,  he  was  so  genuinely  and 
exemplarily  one. 


JAMES  A.   GARFIELD. 

At  Williams  College  Commencement,  July  6,  1881. 

The  days  that  cluster  around  our  glorious  Fourth, 
turning  its  glory  into  sadness,  are  days  not  of  alarm  but 
sorrow.  The  heart  of  the  nation  is  broken  and  melts  in 
tears,  but  its  faith  and  courage  are  unshaken.  For  the 
second  time  in  the  history  of  our  republic  a  president  has 
been  shot  by  an  assassin.  But  this  time,  thank  God, 
no  organized  political  or  social  purpose  or  significance 
crouches  close  behind  the  deed.  The  great  victim  lies  not 
a  sacrifice  to  partisan  or  sectional  malignity.  The  party 
of  half  the  people  whose  gallant  candidate  he  defeated ; 
the  belt  of  humbled  states  which  stood  solid  against  his 
election,  as  they  stood  solid  less  than  twenty  years  ago 
against  his  sword,  and  even  the  embittered  malcontents  in 
his  own  ranks  had  no  hand  in  his  murder.  But  all  alike, 
in  the  better  nobility  of  human  nature,  now  stand  in  com- 
mon horror  and  pity  over  his  wounds.  Nay,  the  whole 
world,  betraying  its  genuine  faith  and  hope  in  the  Ameri- 
can Republic,  lifts  its  outstretched  arms,  and  its  hands 
are  filled  with  the  lilies  of  sympathy  for  us  and  for  him. 
No  decree,  issued  through  the  secret  channels  of  banded 
socialists,  made  his  assailant  their  slave  and  tool.  The 
czar  fell  beneath  the  avenging  and  relentless  pursuit  of 
organized  murder,  Abraham  Lincoln  fell  the  last  and 
noblest  martyr  of  a  civil  war  which,  victorious  upon  the 
field,  yet  carried  in  its  train  the  forked  and  hissing  flames 
of  treachery  and  assassination.     But  Garfield,  in  a  time  of 


GARFIELD.  153 

profound  peace,  when,  aided  by  his  own  generous  words, 
the  sympathies  of  the  Union  were  welding  into  their  old 
fraternity ;  in  a  time  of  universal  prosperity,  when  the 
whole  land  smiles  with  the  promise  of  plenteous  harvests ; 
in  a  country  the  very  atmosphere  of  which  is  freedom,  — 
Garfield,  the  embodiment  of  American  humanity  ;  whose 
name  a  year  ago  was  on  these  walls  as  the  hope  and  ex- 
ample not  only  of  the  scholar,  but  of  the  poor  and  hum- 
ble ;  upon  whom  the  only  criticism  was  upon  the  boyish 
and  bubbling  sympathy  of  his  nature ;  who  had  risked 
his  life  in  battle  for  his  fellow  men,  and  pitched  his  voice 
in  peace  to  the  highest  notes  of  liberty,  —  Garfield  falls 
bleeding  beneath  the  crazy  pistol-shot  of  a  fool.  The 
monstrous  meaninglessness  of  the  purpose  robs  the  deed 
of  its  horror.  But  not  meaningless  is  its  lesson.  If  the 
will  that  did  the  killing  was  that  of  a  maniac,  yet  the 
maniac  takes  his  cue  as  well  as  other  men.  This  time,  so 
far  as  he  took  it  from  the  nihilist's  sophistry  and  the 
spectacle  of  the  czar's  death,  let  it  be  a  warning.  So  far 
as  he  took  it  from  the  poisonous  example  of  great  party 
leaders  dragging  the  honor  of  American  politics  into  the 
mire  of  spoils  and  plunder,  let  it  be  a  warning.  So  far 
as  he  took  it  from  a  system  which  makes  the  holding  of 
civil  office  the  reward  of  the  most  persistent  camp-follower 
and  go-between,  let  it  be  a  warning.  These  are  lessons 
which  this  awful  calamity  teaches.  But  it  does  not 
shake  the  foundations  of  that  "  government  of  the  people 
which  shall  not  perish  from  the  earth."  If  the  murderer 
was  of  sound  mind,  let  his  punishment  be  stern,  swift,  and 
sure.  If  not,  or  in  any  event,  terrible  as  is  the  blow,  it 
is  like  the  lightning,  which  knows  no  respect  of  persons, 
save  that  the  tallest  monarch  of  the  forest  oftenest  attracts 
and  takes  the  stroke.     Let  no  worshiper  of  more  abso- 


154  GARFIELD. 

lute  government  find  in  this  event  a  charge  against  our 
own.  In  the  prophetic  and  reverent  words  of  the  presi- 
dent himself  upon  the  death  of  Lincoln,  "  God  reigns,  and 
the  government  at  Washington  still  lives." 

When  the  rumor  came,  as  it  came  at  first,  that  Garfield 
was  dead,  we  recalled  not  more  the  president  than  the 
man.  It  is  one  of  our  own  number  that  has  been  stricken 
down.  It  is  the  poor  boy  of  our  own  youth,  bare  of  foot 
and  weighted  with  poverty,  lifting  his  eyes  through  humble 
toil  to  the  heights  of  American  education  and  opportunity. 
It  is  our  own  classmate,  revisiting  the  college  halls  and 
classic  scenes  of  his  youth  to  lay  the  wreath  of  his  great 
glory  at  the  feet  of  his  Alma  Mater,  and  to  read  in  the 
loving  eyes  of  his  wife  and  children  the  honest  pride  that 
comes  from  the  hand-clasp  and  congratulations  of  those 
who  knew  and  loved  him  in  early  days.  It  is  the  comrade 
of  our  own  veterans,  who  fought  with  him  at  Chicka- 
mauga.  It  is  our  own  tribune,  who,  on  the  floor  of  Con- 
gress, upon  the  platform  in  many  a  brave  and  inspiring 
word  to  his  countrymen,  young  and  old,  has  spoken  so 
nobly  for  humanity,  for  equal  rights,  for  honest  money, 
for  high  ideals  and  systems  of  political  service,  and  for 
the  national  advancement.  And  it  is  to  the  wife  and 
mother,  not  of  the  president,  but  of  one  of  our  own  num- 
ber, that  our  tenderest  sympathies  go  forth  as  we  recall 
the  ripe  and  bending  years  of  the  one  whose  brow  is  still 
happy  with  the  inauguration  kiss  of  her  boy,  and  whose 
life  spans  at  once  the  Western  pioneer's  cabin  and  the 
White  House,  —  a  tragedy  at  either  end,  —  or  recall  the 
other  from  school  days  tiU  now,  who  has  alike  brightened 
his  simple  Western  home,  and  to-day,  watching  at  his  bed- 
side, stands  for  the  heroism  of  American  womanhood. 
In  sympathy  with  them  both  I  offer  the  prayer  which  is 


GARFIELD.  155 

breathed  by  the  whole  Commonwealth,  from  Greylock's 
top  to  the  pebbles  upon  the  beach  at  Provincetown,  —  a 
prayer  for  the  restoration  to  health  and  post,  and  for 
the  return  another  year  to  these  beautiful  scenes  with 
which  his  name  and  memory  will  be  forever  associated,  of 
Williams'  foremost  graduate,  Massachusetts'  distinguished 
descendant,  and  the  nation's  beloved  president,  James  A. 
Garfield  I 

-  — -^  « 

c  leafy  to;^ 
^ri  institution 
where  these  V 
',  and  every  iik^ 
\s  I  think  of 
'celebrate  ^^ 


ADDRESS 

At  the  Celebration  of  the  Two  Hundred  and  Fiftieth  An- 
niversary OF  the  Incorporation  of  the  Town  of  Sand- 
wich, September  3,  1889. 

This  is  certainly  a  grerican  eS.?y  ^^P®  ^^^-  The  spirit 
of  celebration  is  echoii  revisitino-^.  ^^^  sandy  length  and 
illuminating  the  waterJ^^lJ  ^^  j^y  ^y^q  embrace  it  on  either 
side.  On  the  first  djjg  Alma  Mate^^  ^®  reembalmed  the 
Pilgrims  who  made  o  and  childre-^  stepping-stone  to  the 
Plymouth  threshold,  «  /^lasp  and  '^lioi^?  as  their  shattered 
bark  came  in  from  the  perils  of  the  deep,  the  Cape  threw 
its  great  protecting  arm.  To-day  we  again  honor  the 
Pilgrim  and  pay  our  tribute  to  the  fathers  who  planted 
and  the  sons  who  have  watered  the  good  seed  which, 
under  the  blessing  of  God,  has  had  this  great  increase. 

A  few  months  ago  we  celebrated  the  centennial  of  the 
inauguration  of  our  National  Government.  And  yet  what 
we  were  celebrating  as  a  beginning  was  itself  an  accom- 
plished work,  resulting  not  from  any  special  cause  or  par- 
ticular event,  but  from  the  natural  growth  and  develop- 
ment of  a  political  and  social  system  which  had  started  at 
Plymouth  and  Boston  and  here  in  Sandwich  a  century 
and  a  half  earlier.  It  was  a  system  under  which  brave 
and  intelligent  Christian  freemen,  settling  our  coast  and 
expanding  toward  the  interior,  lived  in  simple  ways,  pur- 
sued homely  avocations,  tilled  the  soil,  built  vessels,  en- 
gaged in  commerce,  combined  hard  manual  labor  with 
good  social  position,  enjoyed  a  democratic  church,  brought 


SANDWICH.  167 

education  to  the  threshold  of  every  child,  inaugurated  a 
republican  form  of  government  by  representation,  and 
prepared  the  popular  mind  by  a  thorough  training  of  a 
hundred  and  fifty  years  for  the  responsibilities  which  na- 
tional independence  brought.  Thus  it  was  that  what 
seemed  to  Europe  the  miraculous  spectacle  of  a  people 
suddenly  assuming  self-government  and  a  constitution  of 
equal  rights,  was  really  no  stranger  than  that  the  oak, 
strong  with  the  growth  of  centuries,  should  endure  the 
tempest  which  sways  its  leafy  top,  but  disturbs  not  its 
trunk  or  its  roots.  The  institution  of  the  New  England 
town  was  the  college  where  these  students  in  local  self- 
government  graduated,  and  every  man  in  New  England 
was  such  a  student.  As  I  think  of  their  work,  the  con- 
summation of  which  we  celebrate  to-day,  and  the  story 
of  which  the  orator  of  the  morning  has  rehearsed,  I  look 
back  through  the  long  vista  of  years  with  a  feeling  of  pro- 
found respect  and  veneration.  You  could,  to-day,  in  other 
lands  have  visited  shrines  of  grander  fame,  over  which 
are  temples  wrought  by  masters  of  architecture,  and  gor- 
geous with  the  work  of  masters  of  art.  You  could,  in  im- 
agination, re-create  from  Greek  and  Roman  and  still  more 
Oriental  ruins  the  magnificent  grandeur  and  glory  of  dy- 
nasties that  have  ruled  the  world.  You  could,  in  West- 
minster Abbey,  hold  communion  with  illustrious  dead  who 
won  the  most  conspicuous  glory  of  warrior  and  statesman, 
orator,  poet,  scholar,  and  divine.  But  none  of  these  sug- 
gest to  us  the  humanity  and  beauty  and  significance  of 
the  birthplace  of  a  town  like  this.  For  here  no  broken 
column  of  fallen  temples  tells  of  the  magnificence  and 
luxury  of  the  few  wrung  from  the  poverty  and  degrada- 
tion of  the  many ;  no  statue  or  shrine  perpetuates  not  so 
much  the  greatness  of  one  man  as  the  inferiority  of  the 


158  SANDWICH. 

body  of  the  people.  Here  rather  began  that  growth  of  a 
free  people,  that  common  recognition  in  town  organization 
of  the  equal  rights  of  all  men,  which  could  not  endure 
that  any  child  should  be  uneducated;  or  that  any  poor 
should  remain  unfed ;  or  that  any  one  caste  should  hold 
supremacy  and  another  be  ground  under  foot ;  or  that  any 
slave  should  long  breathe  Massachusetts  air.  The  civili- 
zation of  other  peoples  has  been  a  slow  evolution  from 
misty  and  barbarous  beginnings,  aided  even  by  the  inva- 
sion or  conquest  of  other  powers.  Our  fathers  began  at 
the  summit,  standing  clear  and  self-sustained  against  the 
sunrise.  There  are  no  shadowy  beginnings,  no  day  of 
mean  things ;  no  semi-barbarism,  out  of  which  there  has 
been  an  exodus,  but  rather  always  a  spirit  of  advanced  in- 
tellectual and  national  life.  No  more  generous  enthusiasm 
for  learning  goes  into  your  schools  to-day  than  they  put 
into  theirs.  They  dotted  your  landscape  with  the  spires 
of  churches.  I  love  these  towns,  and  sigh  that  for  more 
than  half  the  people  of  the  Commonwealth  they  exist  no 
longer.  Think  what  magnificent  memories  and  associa- 
tions they  embody  for  us,  and  how  crowded  is  the  record 
of  every  one  of  them  with  heroic  names  and  with  partici- 
pation in  great  heroic  events.  We  are  no  longer  the  new 
world.  We  are  venerable  with  age.  Progress  moves  now 
so  swift  that  a  hundred  years  are  more  than  a  thousand 
in  the  middle  ages.  We  look  back  through  the  vista  of 
two  centuries  and  a  half  and  it  is  filled  with  great  achieve- 
ments in  behalf  of  humanity ;  with  great  names  of  heroic 
men  and  women  who  lived  not  afar  off,  but  were  with  us 
and  of  us ;  and  with  such  great  events  as  the  success  of 
popular  government,  the  emancipation  of  human  thought 
and  faith,  the  abolition  of  slavery,  and  the  inventions  of 
science,  which  have  put  the  globe  into  the  hollow  of  man's 


SANDWICH.  159 

hand  and  made  the  giant  powers  of  nature  obedient  ser- 
vants of  human  will.     They  will  some  day  scoop  out  the 
Cape  Cod  Ship  Canal  as  deftly  as  a  lady  dips  a  spoon. 
With  what  ancestry  in  the  world  shall  we  fear  to  compare 
ours  ?     Our  soil  is  rich  with  the  ashes  of  the  good  and 
great,  and  our  tribute  goes  out  to  them  the  more  warmly 
because  it  goes  not  to  the  few ;  not  to  an  illustrious  war- 
rior here  or  a  great  benefactor  there ;  but  to  the  whole 
body  of  those  plain,  God-fearing  and  self-respecting  men 
and  women  who  so  raised  the  general  level  of  their  ordi- 
nary life  that   any  distinction  among  them  which  they 
made  was  the  accident  of  circumstance  or  necessity,  and 
any  distinction  which  we  should  make  would  be  an  injus- 
tice.    What  trust  have  they  not  imposed  upon  us  ?    With 
them  behind  us,  what  is  not  our  duty  as  the  living,  ac- 
countable citizens  of  this  and  other  like  communities  to- 
day to  those  who  shall  follow  us  ?     Shall  we  lower  the 
standard  ?     Shall  we  not  rather  advance  it  still  higher  ? 
The  world  is  pleading  with  us  from  our  safe  and  high 
vantage  ground  to  lend  a  helping  hand  to  reach  down  to 
our  fellow  men  and  lift  them  up  by  help  and  by  example. 
There  never  was  a  time  when  the  moral  instincts  were 
more  sensitive  than  now.     Peace  spreads  her  white  wings 
over  us.     There  is  indeed  no  field  on  which  to  battle  with 
bloody  arms  for  civil  freedom,  for  religious  toleration,  or 
against  beast  or  savage  foe.     Our  conflict  must  be  with 
the  insidious  forces  that  war  upon  the  moral  sentiment, 
that  threaten  corruption  to  our  social  and  political  fabric, 
that  invade  the  manhood  and  purity  and  truth  of  men, 
that  impair  the  sanctity  and  happiness  of  home,  or  that 
would  subvert  the  institutions  that  have  made  New  Eng- 
land a  paradise  of  living,  as  it  is  a  paradise  of  varied  and 
invigorating  climate,  scenery,  and  seashore.     The  obliga- 


160  SANDWICH. 

tions  of  the  noble  record  along  which  you  look  back  for 
two  hundred  and  fifty  years  with  so  much  pride,  are  not 
to  seek  for  great  opportunities  remote  and  afar  off,  but  to 
aid  in  the  circle  of  our  own  immediate  influence  and  abil- 
ity in  upbuilding  the  citizen;  in  eradicating  the  subtle 
evil  of  intemperance  that  is  honeycombing  society  and  the 
state  with  its  rot ;  in  diffusing  the  common  education  of 
the  people,  for  which  the  fathers  provided  so  sedulously ; 
in  adjusting  not  so  much  the  cold,  economic  relation  of 
capital  and  labor,  as  if  these  were  distinct  factors,  but  the 
warm  relation  of  man  with  man  in  the  great  struggle  for 
happiness,  in  which  every  man  is  a  capitalist  and  every 
man  a  laborer ;  and  in  standing  firm  against  any  infl.u- 
ence  or  inroad  that  threatens  the  purity  of  democratic 
government.  The  civilization  of  the  future  is  in  our  own 
hands.  These  great  causes  of  temperance,  of  the  educa- 
tion of  the  masses,  of  the  purity  of  our  politics,  depend 
upon  our  discharge  or  neglect  of  our  duty.  If  we  dis- 
charge it,  then  are  we  worthy  sons  of  worthy  sires.  If  we 
neglect  it,  then  is  our  celebration  of  these  anniversaries, 
our  praise  of  the  fathers,  our  tributes  to  their  virtues,  but 
sounding  brass  and  tinkling  cymbal. 


ADDRESS 

On  the  Spirit   of  1775,  at  the  Centennial  Tea  Party,  at 
Agricultural  Hall,  Hingham,  Mass.,  August  12,  1875. 

We  seek  to  revive  to-night,  my  friends,  something  of 
the  spirit  and  circumstance  of  1775.  You  will  remem- 
ber that,  only  a  hundred  years  ago,  our  fatherland  —  now 
magnificent  in  extent  and  wealth,  with  navies  and  a 
militia  of  millions  at  its  command,  with  systems  of  edu- 
cation, industry,  and  growth  that  give  it  foremost  rank 
among  the  nations  —  was  but  a  slender  strip  of  seaboard, 
its  population  less  than  that  of  a  single  State  to-day 
which  then  not  even  existed  ;  so  dependent  on  the  mother 
country  that  the  word  home  almost  meant  the  British 
isles  three  thousand  miles  across  the  sea,  with  no  manu- 
factures, with  little  commerce,  without  ships,  with  no 
military  reliance  except  a  farmer  here  and  there,  who  had 
served  a  half  summer  in  the  French  and  Indian  wars,  or 
a  damaged  keg  of  powder  and  a  rusty  flint-lock  left  over 
from  the  waste  of  English  regiments.  Our  fathers  were 
then  thrilling,  not  with  the  memory  with  which  we  stir 
so  profoundly,  but  with  the  very  impendence  and  shock 
of  Bunker  Hill  and  Lexington  and  all  their  portent  of 
the  bloody  penalties  of  treason  and  of  war  threatening  to 
slay  the  father  and  the  first-born,  and  to  devastate  the 
little  farm  that  thrift  had  earned  with  such  hard  toil. 
The  historian  and  poet  paint  the  combat  and  the  con- 
gress, but  they  cannot  reproduce  the  intensity  of  feeling 
that  agitated  every  little  village  and  fireside.     Something 


162  THE  SPIRIT  OF  1775. 

of  civil  war,  endangering  our  precious  union  as  freemen, 
we  saw  in  1861,  but  its  thunders  rolled  afar  off,  its  light- 
ning rent  the  murky  horizon  only  in  the  distant  South ; 
and  the  experience  it  brought,  appalling  as  it  was,  is  not 
a  fair  test  of  that  through  which  in  Massachusetts  our 
ancestors  were  passing  a  hundred  years  ago. 

We  ask  you  to  recall  the  sparse  settlements,  the  fewer 
streets  and  houses,  the  village  inn  and  store,  the  courier 
on  horseback,  the  quaint  vehicles  of  that  day,  the  slow 
transmission  of  news,  the  timidity  of  those  who  clung  to 
the  royal  garment,  and  the  enthusiasm  of  those  who  were 
catching  the  inspiration  of  independence.  You  must  re- 
member that  steam  had  then  no  other  mission  than  to 
sing  by  the  kitchen  fire ;  that  electricity  had  but  just 
revealed  its  mysterious  spark  on  the  bold  knuckle  of 
Franklin ;  that  no  piano  tinkled  in  the  parlor ;  that  no 
sewing  machine  relieved  the  housewife's  busy  fingers ;  that 
agricultural  tools  and  processes  were  rude ;  that  hasty 
pudding  was  good  fare ;  that  the  old  time-piece  in  the 
comer  ticked  with  a  lazy  beat  as  loud  as  the  tap  of  a 
drum ;  that  the  thanksgiving  turkey  wasted  not  its  frar 
grance  in  the  oven  of  a  cooking-stove,  but  turned  on  the 
spit  over  great  generous  fires  of  beech  and  maple ;  that 
wooden  chairs,  with  possibly  a  leather  bottom,  were  a 
greater  luxury  than  sofas  of  plush  to-day ;  that  no  loom 
wove  cotton  cloth,  but  men  wore  homespun,  the  product 
of  the  spinning-wheel  turned  by  aristocratic  mothers  and 
daughters ;  and  women  were  elegant  in  gowns  that  now 
would  hardly  make  the  puffs  on  the  overskirt  of  a  cham- 
bermaid. The  stage-coach  was  a  wonder ;  the  tavern 
and  the  half-way  house  were  alive  with  the  cheer  and 
bustle  of  arrival  and  departure ;  everybody  —  even  the 
parson  —  drank  toddy,  and  a  flush  at  the  end  of  the  nose, 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  1775.  163 

if  not  an  ornament,  was  not  a  reproach.  The  newspaper, 
despot  of  modern  civilization,  was  in  its  infancy,  a  rare 
and  meagre  slip ;  and  the  interviewer  who  to-day  gleans 
the  very  crumbs  from  your  table  and  details  your  mild- 
est domestic  infelicity  in  the  public  prints,  was  all  un- 
conscious of  his  destiny  as  the  great  liar  and  bore  of 
the  coming  century.  There  was  no  spelling  book,  and 
George  Washington,  who  could  defy  a  king,  would  have 
gone  down  before  one  of  our  primary  school  girls.  The 
schoolhouse  was  a  shed  and  not  a  palace.  The  plagues 
of  Western  grasshopper,  lightning-rod  man,  and  book 
agent,  spared  even  to  Pharaoh,  still  slumbered  in  the 
chrysalis  of  the  unhappy  future. 

People  ate  from  wooden  bowls  and  pewter  platters  and 
not  with  silver  forks.  They  locked  their  doors,  if  at  all, 
with  bars  of  wood  in  sockets.  They  slept  in  unwarmed 
rooms.  In  the  meeting  house  in  winter  time  the  vapor  of 
their  breath,  condensed  by  the  frigid  air,  helped  waft  their 
prayers  to  heaven.  From  Saturday  eve  to  Sunday  night, 
a  great  hush  and  soberness  were  over  them,  and  on  the 
Sabbath  they  rivaled  the  torture  of  the  penitent's  flagel- 
lation by  subjecting  adult  and  child  to  the  infliction  of 
two,  if  not  three  sermons,  each  longer  than  a  president's 
message.  The  great  secular  occasions  were  the  training 
and  the  raising.  They  were  a  sturdy,  plain,  economical, 
and  thorough  people,  and  the  night  would  bloom  into  the 
rosy  morn  were  I  to  set  forth,  even  if  I  could,  half  the 
virtues  which  made  them  the  germ  of  so  noble  a  growth,  or 
half  the  peculiarities  of  fashion  and  of  domestic  arrange- 
ment, which  marked  their  thrift,  and  of  which  the  women 
of  Hingham  have  procured  these  interesting  relics. 

You  will  see  the  chairs  they  sat  in  ;  the  tables  at  which 
they  ate ;  the  clocks  by  which  they  rose  and  slept ;  the 


164  THE  SPIRIT  OF  1775. 

caps,  the  shoes,  the  cradles,  the  very  playthings  of  their 
petticoat  childhood ;  the  dresses  they  wore  ;  their  swords 
now  eaten  with  rust ;  the  spurs  of  Washington  ;  the  knife 
and  fork  of  John  Adams.  You  will  see  their  miserable 
continental  rag  money  —  solemn  warning  to  us  to-day  — 
inflated  till  the  distress  and  riot  it  induced  almost  robbed 
independence  of  its  value  and  made  the  sacrifices  of  the 
Revolution  a  mockery.  Most  perishable  and  yet  most 
enduring  of  all,  you  will  see  the  letters  of  business,  of 
friendship,  and  affection  they  wrote.  What  volumes  are 
in  those  fragile  leaves,  those  trembling  tracings  of  pen 
and  ink !  You  wiU  see  the  signatures  of  Washington  and 
Knox,  Lincoln,  Adams,  and  Jefferson.  As  you  gaze,  a 
hundred  years  seem  but  as  a  day,  and  you  stand  in  the 
very  presence  of  the  fathers  of  the  republic  amid  scenes 
warm  with  their  personal  approach.  It  is  the  substantial 
and  the  strong  which  passes  away ;  the  delicate  and  in- 
visible which  survives.  Rare  are  the  mansions  of  brick 
and  wood  our  fathers  raised ;  but  their  words  still  live 
and  bum.  Their  material  surroundings  have  almost 
utterly  perished,  so  that  only  a  relic  here  and  there,  left 
in  some  attic  or  preserved  by  some  kindly  antiquarian, 
remains  to  win  the  imagination  backward  ;  but  their 
spirit,  their  thought,  their  intellectual  and  moral  achieve- 
ments, have  crystallized  into  the  great  foundation  stones  on 
which  the  structure  of  to-day  stands  with  all  that  is  best 
and  strongest  in  our  institutions,  and  are  conspicuous, 
like  the  pedestal  of  a  monument,  in  the  eternal  truths  of 
the  declaration  of  independence,  in  the  constitutions  of 
the  commonwealth  and  the  nation,  in  the  very  votes  that 
slumber  in  the  fading  records  of  the  clerks  of  this  and 
of  many  another  Massachusetts  town.  These  are  living 
nerves  that  never  die,  that  to-day  are  as  vital  as  in  1775 ; 
that  in  1775  were  as  vital  as  to-day. 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  1775.  165 

This  suggests  the  real  purpose  of  this  centennial  tea 
party.  It  is  not  alone  an  occasion  for  merry-making, 
though  it  includes  that ;  it  is  not  a  mere  tribute  to  de- 
parted days  and  heroes ;  it  is  a  recognition  of  living  issues 
and  principles  which  were  indeed  illustrated  in  the  grand 
events  and  noble  souls  of  the  American  revolution,  but 
which  demand  now  as  then,  which  a  hundred  years  hence 
will  demand  as  now,  our  allegiance  and  service. 

I  am  not  of  those  who  magnify  the  past  at  the  expense 
of  the  present.  I  believe  we  have  not  fallen  below  the 
standard  of  our  forefathers,  but  on  the  contrary  have 
added  to  their  growth.  Civilization  is  not  only  a  hun- 
dred years  older,  but  a  hundred  years  better  and  grander 
than  it  was  in  their  day.  The  thinker,  the  scientist,  the 
scholar,  the  divine  has  stridden  worlds  beyond  their  hori- 
zon ;  our  schools  are  of  a  scope  and  generosity  such  as 
they  never  dreamed  of.  John  Harvard  builded  his  col- 
lege better  than  he  knew;  our  education,  wide  as  the 
world  in  its  sources  and  diffusion,  stretches  broad  across, 
above,  and  below  the  narrow  gamut  of  their  instruction ; 
science  and  social  progress,  the  arts,  literature,  the  ameni- 
ties of  life,  have  all  expanded  in  America  out  of  the  limits 
of  the  former  century  into  freer  range ;  even  our  politics, 
taking  into  view  the  tremendous  growth  of  political  prizes, 
demands,  interests,  and  responsibilities,  are  as  pure  as 
theirs ;  and  if  there  are  fewer  examples  of  individual  great- 
ness, —  though  I  doubt  this,  with  such  names  as  leap  at 
once  to  the  mind  in  the  church,  the  bar,  the  congress, 
the  executive  chair,  in  business,  in  every  walk  of  life  at 
the  present  time,  —  certainly  our  general  level  is  superior. 
With  familiarity  comes  contempt,  and  it  is  easy  and  vul- 
gar eloquence  that  vilifies  the  present  and  immediate. 
Assuredly  we  have  no  example  of  treason  so  base  as  that 


166  THE  SPIRIT  OF  1775. 

of  Benedict  Arnold,  or  of  a  spirit  meaner  than  that  which, 
in  the  Continental  Congress  and  array,  barked  at  the 
heels  of  the  Continental  commander-in-chief  ;  or  of  a  cor- 
rupter state  of  affairs  than  Jefferson  deplored.  Uncom- 
promising Sam  Adams  is  matched  in  Phillips,  Garrison,  or 
Sumner;  nor  can  the  past  exhibit  a.  purer  martyr  than 
Abraham  Lincoln  or  a  nobler  hero  than  John  A.  Andrew. 

All  this,  too,  though  all  this  time  our  population  has 
been  multiplying,  our  life  growing  more  artificial,  our 
forms  more  intricate  and  liable  to  abuse,  and  our  ports 
opening  as  an  asylum  to  the  inflow  of  foreign  populations. 
If  we  seem  to  see  more  crime  and  corruption,  it  is  because 
the  area  is  larger,  and  the  sharp  criticism  which  holds  the 
citizen  and  the  official  to  their  duty  is  keener  and  more 
searching.  In  the  matter  of  temperance  we  are  more 
abstinent  and  alive  to  its  necessity ;  in  health  we  are 
better  educated ;  in  the  one  item  of  human  slavery  it  is 
boast  enough  for  this  generation  that  it  has  eradicated  a 
cancer  which  the  last  century  fostered  and  permitted. 

Yet  true  it  is  that  the  moral  level  is  still  a  thousand 
times  too  low.  All  this  material  and  intellectual  progress 
has  brought  with  it  only  a  greater  responsibility ;  and  no 
American,  who  rises  to  the  true  appreciation  of  his  citi- 
zenship, and  of  his  descent  from  the  heroes  of  1775,  can 
for  a  moment  reflect  upon  the  startling  and  portentous  ex- 
pansion of  the  nation,  its  vast  wants,  its  intricate  and  pon- 
derous machinery  of  government,  its  temptations  to  cor- 
ruption in  business,  in  politics,  in  every  relation,  without 
feeling  that  the  great  need,  the  one  thing  to  enforce  every- 
where, is  the  personal  accountability  of  every  citizen  for 
the  welfare  and  dignity  and  high  character  of  his  country, 
and  for  taking  care,  in  the  noble  language  of  the  Koman 
fathers,  that  the  republic  suffer  no  detriment.     We  can- 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  1775.  167 

not  too  earnestly  impress  this  duty  or  concentrate  too 
many  influences  in  its  behalf.  For  this  reason  it  is  indeed 
well  to  keep  always  before  our  eyes  what  is  sterling,  what 
is  best  in  the  past.  Happy  is  it  in  the  providence  of  God 
that  the  dead  past  does  bury  its  dead,  but  —  though  the 
poet  forgot  to  add  it  —  keeps  alive  its  living ;  that  it 
buries  the  dead  lies,  the  dead  meanness,  cowardice,  trea- 
son, the  dead  infidelity,  sin,  and  folly,  the  dead  men  that 
have  sunk  into  benign  oblivion ;  but  that  whatever  was 
heroic  and  divine,  whatever  was  pure  gold,  whatever  true 
man  lived,  whatever  good  and  patriotic  deed  was  done  or 
word  spoken,  wherever  a  Washington  gathered  into  his 
form  aU  the  beauty  of  manliness,  into  his  soul  all  the 
grandeur  of  an  exalted  life,  all  these  the  past  preserves 
forever  fresh  and  immortal.  I  doubt  not  that  Jesus  — 
the  divine  poet  —  meant  this  when  he  bade  the  disciple 
let  the  dead  bury  their  dead.  Well  may  time  drop  the 
curtain  hastily  over  its  own  decay.  It  is  the  spirit  we 
want,  not  the  form ;  the  germ  and  not  the  husk ;  the  prin- 
ciple and  not  the  event ;  the  thought  and  not  the  man.  It 
were  nonsense  to  pay  tribute  to  the  memory  of  the  Revo- 
lution, or  to  celebrate  this  Centennial  year  for  its  own 
sake  or  for  any  other  purpose  than  to  utilize  the  past  in 
the  future,  to  project  the  lessons,  the  experience,  the  bet- 
ter soul  of  the  past  into  the  soul  of  the  future,  to  make  it 
also  better  and  grander.  In  the  light  of  mere  narrative 
and  boast,  the  battle,  the  victory,  the  congress  are  idle 
tales  that  are  told ;  they  might  as  well  have  been  the  fic- 
tions of  the  ^neid,  or  the  pictures  of  the  novelist ;  and 
but  for  the  aid  which  our  dull  imaginations  get  from  ma- 
terial associations  and  the  touch  of  flesh  and  blood,  the 
personages  of  Shakespeare  are  more  real  than  the  signers 
of  the  Declaration  of  Independence ;  the  Ivanhoe  of  ro- 


168  THE   SPIRIT  OF  1775. 

mance  is  a  knight  better  known  to  us  than  the  youthful 
Lafayette  crossing  the  ocean  to  couch  his  lance  in  the 
cause  of  freedom;  and  Colonel  Thomas  Newcome  and 
Mr.  Pickwick  have  exerted  a  more  personal  influence  in 
forming  the  character  of  the  Christian  gentleman  than  Dr. 
Johnson  or  Washington  Irving.  But  as  examples  of  what 
true  men  have  achieved  and  of  what  we  may  therefore 
achieve  as  well,  —  as  exhibiting  virtue,  not  as  the  mere 
ideal  of  the  poet,  but  as  the  substantial  consummation  of 
a  noble  life  actually  lived,  the  characters  and  deeds  of  our 
ancestors  are  very  fountains  of  inspiration.  Therefore  let 
us  dwell  on  the  delightful  picture  that  history  and  poetry 
and  the  refining  touch  of  a  century,  obscuring  all  ignobler 
elements,  have  drawn  so  vividly  for  us  of  their  patriotism, 
their  courage,  their  wisdom,  their  purpose,  and  achieve- 
ment. Let  us  note  how,  in  those  days,  the  religious  ele- 
ment entered  into  all  the  relations  of  life  and  of  public 
affairs.  Not  the  mere  form  of  prayer  and  sermon,  the 
sanctimonious  habit  and  look ;  but  that  religious  element 
which  we  feel  in  the  character  of  Washington,  which 
recognizes  the  dependence  of  the  human  soul  —  not  as 
a  speculation  or  a  philosophy,  but  as  an  actual,  experi- 
mental, daily  necessity  —  upon  an  overruling  Providence, 
acting  always  under  a  sense  of  its  awful  supervision,  look- 
ing to  it  for  a  better  inspiration  and  a  loftier  purpose.  I 
feel  profoundly  that  this  is  an  element  in  the  past  which 
we  cannot  afford  to  lose ;  that  as  a  nation,  as  communi- 
ties, as  individuals,  it  is  vital  that  this  faith,  this  depend- 
ence, this  one  great  link,  binding  the  weak  to  the  infinite, 
lifting  the  soul  above  meaner  levels  to  its  duty  to  God,  be 
recognized  as  the  very  needle  of  the  social  and  political 
compass.  Let  us  note,  too,  especially  in  these  days,  when 
the  words  union  and  reconciliation  are  the  very  dove  and 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  1775.  169 

olive-leaf  after  the  deluge  of  civil  war,  the  generous  co- 
operation and  whole-heartedness  that  led  the  colonies,  in 
spite  of  great  distances,  of  remote  interests,  of  diverse 
faiths  and  descent,  to  unite  as  one  man  in  a  holy  cause ; 
nay,  that  united  the  whole  world  in  a  step  forward.  We 
may  view  the  American  Revolution  in  a  double  aspect,  — 
as  the  consolidation  of  thirteen  colonies  into  a  single  em- 
pire, as  also  one  of  the  progressive  lifts  of  the  civiliza- 
tion of  the  world  at  large. 

In  either  view,  then,  recall  those  eventful  days  a  hun- 
dred years  ago  this  summer  evening.  All  British  Amer- 
ica is  aroused  and  uniting.  Within  the  lines  that  circle 
from  Dorchester  to  Chelsea  are  the  bivouacs  and  camp- 
fires  of  the  patriots,  of  the  Puritan,  and  the  cavalier,  —  of 
the  sons  of  the  Huguenots,  the  Highlanders,  the  Dutch 
burghers,  —  of  the  children  of  Erin  and  of  Africa.  The 
soldiers  who  fought  at  Bunker  HiU  —  their  laurels  al- 
ready won  —  represent  all  the  four  provinces  that  consti- 
tute New  England.  In  command  are  Stark  and  Sullivan 
from  New  Hampshire,  Knowlton  and  Putnam  from  Con- 
necticut, and  from  Rhode  Island,  Greene,  the  noblest  sol- 
dier of  the  war,  dying  in  poverty  soon  after  its  close,  and 
lying  to-day  in  an  unknown  grave.  The  story  of  Pres- 
cott's  stern  resistance  runs  like  wildfire.  At  Cambridge, 
on  the  3d  of  July,  under  the  great  elm  that  bears  his 
name  and  could  almost  hide  his  whole  army  under  its 
shade,  Washington  takes  command  of  the  continental 
forces.  To  his  call  for  supplies  flow  generous  responses 
from  New  York,  Pennsylvania,  New  Jersey,  South  Caro- 
lina, and  remotest  Georgia.  In  August  —  this  very 
month  —  come  into  camp  fourteen  hundred  riflemen  from 
Virginia,  under  command  of  Daniel  Morgan,  a  magnifi- 
cent creation  of  bone  and  sinew,  experienced  in  the  In- 


170  THE   SPIRIT  OF   1775. 

dian  wars,  and  destined  to  a  glorious  career  in  the  army. 
Maryland,  her  soldiers  always  veterans  in  the  years  that 
follow,  gathers  recruits  beyond  the  AUeghanies  and  sends 
them  merrily  over  the  mountains  to  be  in  at  the  siege  of 
Boston.  A  regiment  from  Pennsylvania  follows.  These 
brave  cousins  from  sister  provinces  come  marching  hun- 
dreds of  miles  in  hunting  shirts  and  moccasins,  unerring 
in  the  use  of  the  rifle,  and  uniting  the  soldier  and  the 
woodsman.  In  no  quarter  glows  a  more  generous  enthu- 
siasm than  in  the  Carolinas,  where,  fired  by  the  example 
of  Lexington,  patriots  rise  in  support  of  the  patriot's 
cause,  and  where,  romance  blending  with  history.  Flora 
McDonald,  heroine  of  Scott's  first  novel,  who  in  her  youth 
had  risked  her  life  to  save  that  of  her  prince,  Charles  Ed- 
ward, after  the  battle  of  Culloden,  now  in  her  womanly 
maturity,  a  pioneer  with  her  Highland  husband  in  North 
Carolina,  is  especially  active  in  her  patriotic  efforts,  and 
yet  is  only  one  of  a  thousand  daring  souls.  Indeed,  since 
the  sun  went  down  on  the  night  of  the  17th  of  June,  the 
struggle  has  ceased  to  be  a  local  one.  It  is  no  longer  a 
matter  of  Boston  Common  or  the  stores  at  Concord.  It 
has  become  a  nation's  cause,  and  the  whole  land,  small  in 
numbers,  but  vast  in  extent,  springs  with  a  united  front 
and  purpose  to  the  defense  of  freedom,  to  the  resistance 
of  tyranny,  to  the  impending,  though  yet  unacknowledged 
assertion  of  national  independence.  By  this  twelfth  day 
of  August,  not  the  Massachusetts  minute  men,  but  a  con- 
tinental army,  beleaguers  Boston,  commanded  by  a  son  of 
Virginia,  its  ranks  recruited  from  nearly  every  colony ;  its 
heart  inspired  with  encouragement,  and  its  achievements 
watched  with  eager  interest  from  Georgia  to  the  St.  Law- 
rence ;  and  the  ardor  of  its  captains  fully  supplemented 
by  the  earnest  spirits  who,  at  their  various  homes,  by  pen 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  1775.  171 

and  voice,  are  spreading  the  flame  of  liberty,  as  Clan  Al- 
pine speeds  the  torch  at  the  rising  of  the  clan,  and  are 
cultivating  among  the  colonists  that  common  enthusiasm 
which  shall  afterwards  develop  into  a  more  perfect  union. 
At  Philadelphia  sits  the  immortal  Congress,  in  which 
Adams,  Jefferson,  Franklin,  Rutledge,  and  representa- 
tives from  every  province  inspire  in  one  another  the 
mounting  resolution,  which,  to  their  eternal  fame,  though 
at  the  risk  of  the  hangman's  rope,  lifts  them,  a  year  later, 
up  to  the  Declaration  of  Independence. 

This  is  all  trite,  but  it  is  worth  while  to  remember  that 
the  American  Kevolution  was  the  birth  of  our  Federal 
Union ;  that  that  Union,  long  before  it  was  expressed  in 
constitutional  form,  existed  in  the  spontaneous  and  gener- 
ous sympathy  which  sustained  the  Continental  Congress 
itself ;  which  bore  the  brunt  of  the  war ;  which  year  after 
year  sent  soldiers  into  the  weary  and  disheartening  cam- 
paigns and  raised  supplies  to  keep  them ;  and  which  en- 
dured poverty  and  death  and  fire  and  sword  that  the  cause 
of  American  freedom  might  prevail.  Without  that  union 
in  sympathy  first  and  in  political  coherence  afterwards, 
our  independence  could  not  have  been  achieved.  And 
now,  after  the  gloomy  hurricane  of  civil  war  that  has  just 
passed  over  us,  shall  we  not  do,  what  to-day  we  can,  to 
renew  the  same  responsive  sympathy  that  wrought  so 
much  a  hundred  years  ago  ?  Our  civil  war  was  simply  the 
conmion  cost  we  all  paid  for  suffering  a  false  principle,  an 
unsound  element,  to  inhere  in  our  political  union.  It  is  a 
striking  example  of  the  utter  inexpediency  of  mere  expe- 
diency, of  the  penalties  that  are  sure  to  follow  any  com- 
promise that  recognizes  and  perpetuates  a  wrong.  That 
common  cost  we  have  paid  in  blood,  in  treasure,  in  the 
best  lives  of  the  nation  ;  and  the  next  step  is  the  new  re- 


172  THE  SPIRIT  OF  1775. 

union  on  the  loftier  plane  instead  of  the  old  union  on  the 
lower  one.  How  the  imagination  expands  as  it  anticipates 
the  results  of  this  reunion,  as  it  foresees  the  great,  magnifi- 
cent South  with  its  fertile  fields,  its  immense  seaboard,  its 
noble  rivers,  its  rich  mountains  and  valleys,  its  fruitful 
climate,  opening  to  the  development  of  free  labor,  expand- 
ing under  systems  of  free  schools,  its  fetters  forged  by  its 
own  hands  broken  by  ours,  its  sons  reuniting  with  its  an- 
cient friends  at  the  North  in  the  glorious  achievement  of 
the  highest  civilization  and  prosperity,  as  a  hundred  years 
ago  in  the  achievement  of  victory  on  battlefields  in  behaK 
of  political  independence.  Blessed  be  these  centennial 
days  that  have  brought  to  the  monument  at  Bunker  Hill 
the  troops  of  a  Southern  State,  laying  garlands  of  flowers 
at  its  base  and  planting  the  palmetto  of  Carolina  by  the 
Northern  pine ;  and  that  have  seen  the  soldiers  of  the  re- 
bellion taught  in  the  streets  of  Boston,  what  neither  the 
newspaper,  nor  Congress  and  the  National  Executive,  nor 
five  years  of  bloody  revolution  could  teach  them,  —  what 
nothing  but  their  own  eyes  could  convince  them  of,  —  the 
fact  that  Massachusetts,  as  generous  as  she  is  powerful, 
has  had  no  other  purpose  than  to  do  justly  and  to  love 
mercy;  that  she  has  never  felt  the  spirit  of  vindictive- 
ness,  but  stands  always  ready  to  renew  the  attachment  of 
the  fathers ;  but  that  never  was  an  attempt  so  wicked,  so 
full  of  foUy  and  delusion,  as  rebellion  against  that  govern- 
ment which  the  men  of  1775,  North  and  South,  sacrificed 
so  much  to  found  and  perpetuate.  This  year  seals  the 
grander  and  second  consolidation  of  America.  And  nar- 
row is  the  soul  and  mischievous  the  memory  that  would  re- 
call the  bitterness  of  civil  strife,  save  as  a  warning  against 
the  errors  that  begot  it,  or  that  would  utter  one  word  or 
do  one  act  to  stay  the  blessed  work  of  reconciliation. 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  1775.  173 

But  even  this  is  not  the  whole  significance  of  the  Amer- 
ican Revolution  ;  this  is  not  all  we  commemorate  in  these 
centennial  occasions.  The  American  Revolution  was  a 
step  in  the  progress  of  the  whole  world,  an  impulse  for 
which  we  should  not  be  grateful  to  our  American  ances- 
tors North  and  South  alone.  Englishmen  ourselves,  not 
the  least  of  our  debt  do  we  owe  to  England  herself,  whose 
tendencies  for  a  thousand  years  had  been  reaching  toward 
political  enfranchisement ;  whose  finer  statesmen,  poets, 
scholars,  and  divines  had  always  fostered  the  spirit  that 
in  1775  found  also  expression  in  the  dauntless  faith  and 
bold  purpose  of  Sam  and  John  Adams ;  whose  better 
minds  even  in  the  height  of  the  war  were  with  us ;  whose 
orators,  like  Chatham,  Burke,  Camden,  and  many  others, 
espoused  our  cause  and  within  the  very  walls  of  the  Brit- 
ish parliament  uttered  eloquent  and  fearless  appeals  in 
our  behalf  ;  whose  generals,  like  Howe  and  Carleton,  even 
when  leading  her  armies  against  us,  could  not  be  indiffer- 
ent to  the  common  ties  that  had  linked  us  together  so 
long ;  and  whose  soldiers,  though  arrayed  against  their 
own  countrymen,  yet  by  prolonging  the  war  till  the 
cement  of  union  and  independence  grew  hard,  became 
unconscious  agencies  in  the  accomplishment  of  a  revolu- 
tion, that  indeed  lost  England  her  colonies,  but  gained 
for  her  and  for  the  world  a  successful  example  of  repub- 
lican institutions,  of  a  popular  rebellion  against  injustice 
vindicated,  and  of  the  humblest  citizen  made  in  his  politi- 
cal and  social  rights  the  peer  of  monarch  and  magnate. 
The  intelligence  of  England  to-day  regards  our  Revolu- 
tion not  as  a  victory  over  her,  which  as  a  mere  victory  of 
arms  and  military  force  we  could  scarce  have  secured, 
but  as  an  achievement  in  civil  liberty  and  growth  the 
merit  and  fruit  of  which  she  shares  with  us,  as  the  mother 


174  THE  SPIRIT  OF  1775. 

glories  and  shares  in  the  attainments  of  her  child.  No 
more  loving  or  appreciative  picture  of  Washington  has 
been  drawn  than  that  by  Thackeray  in  "  The  Virginians." 
Among  the  relics  here  to-night  is  the  red  coat  of  a 
British  soldier  found  at  Bunker  HiU.  For  aught  I  know 
some  burly  Yorkshireman  threw  it  off  that  hot  June  after- 
noon and,  frightened  by  a  Yankee  blunderbuss  aimed  at 
the  white  of  his  eye,  ran  away  to  become  another  day  the 
ancestor  of  that  great-hearted  preacher  [Robert  Collyer] 
whose  home  and  warmest  welcome  are  in  the  land  his 
grandsire  fought ;  who  knows  not  whether  he  is  of  Eng- 
land or  America,  because  he  is  of  both ;  and  who  per- 
haps will  tell  you  to-night,  in  his  own  inimitable  and 
cordial  way,  that  so  welded  are  the  two  nations  in  all 
good  and  generous  things,  that  loyalty  to  either  is  loyalty 
to  each.  Nor  must  we  forget  the  enthusiasm  our  strug- 
gle awoke  all  through  Europe,  —  the  aid  that  came  from 
foreign  powers,  whether  in  the  undisguised  sympathy  of 
Russia  and  Frederick  the  Great,  or  in  the  substantial 
contribution  of  armies,  ships,  money,  and  munitions  of 
war  that  poured  from  the  lavish  hand  of  France  and  less 
from  Spain  and  Holland.  And  last,  we  must  not  forget 
those  individuals  who,  fired  by  the  story  of  our  wrongs, 
emulating  the  examples  of  chivalry  and  romance,  sped  to 
our  rescue :  Lafayette,  a  boy  of  seventeen,  forsaking  his 
tender  wife,  abandoning  his  high  position  in  the  royal 
army  and  court,  giving  from  his  princely  fortune  to  clothe 
and  feed  our  soldiers,  the  bosom  friend  of  Washington, 
the  adopted  child  of  America ;  De  Kalb  accompanying 
him  to  lay  down  his  life  for  us  at  the  battle  of  Camden ; 
Steuben  who  taught  our  soldiers  discipline ;  Kosciusko 
the  Polish  patriot ;  Pulaski,  killed  at  the  siege  of  Savan- 
nah ;  and  a  host  of  others,  no  doubt  animated  by  love  of 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  1775.  175 

adventure  and  hope  of  fame,  but  underneath  all  recog- 
nizing the  grandeur  of  the  cause  to  which  they  offered 
their  lives.  With  all  these  elements  in  and  out  of  Amer- 
ica involved,  it  was  indeed  one  of  those  epochs  in  the 
world's  history  when  the  onward  flow  of  progress  at  a 
particular  time  and  in  a  particular  place  rose  into  a  tidal 
wave.  In  this  broad  view  there  is  no  occasion  that  is 
entirely  our  own  and  not  the  world's.  It  would  be  a 
narrow  thing  to  celebrate  the  Centennial  of  the  birth  of 
American  Independence  if  we  did  not  recognize  its  results 
outside  of  America.  God  works  in  no  limited  way.  All 
nature  responds  to  the  remotest  touch.  Not  a  wave  of 
your  hand  but  the  poles  vibrate  and  the  moons  of  Jupiter 
yield  a  graceful  response.  Not  a  child  cries  in  its  sleep 
at  nightfall  but  some  bird  at  the  antipodal  sunrise,  igno- 
rant whence  the  wave  that  tinkles  in  its  ear,  awakes  and 
sings  its  morning  song.  And  so  in  these  grander  events, 
none  of  them  occurs  but  the  world's  history,  its  progress 
for  good  or  bad,  is  affected.  It  is  the  world's  centennial, 
and  that  I  am  soaring  into  no  extravagance,  see  how  a 
practical  people  propose  to  celebrate  it. 

It  is  proposed  to  celebrate  it  by  a  World's  Exhibi- 
tion and  Gathering  in  Philadelphia  in  the  year  1876.  To 
aid  this  great  enterprise  is  the  object  of  this  tea  party 
to-night,  and  of  a  hundred  others  that  will  occur  in  the 
various  towns  of  this  Commonwealth.  Certainly  in  no 
town  more  fittingly  than  in  Hingham,  the  home  of  Gen- 
eral Lincoln,  —  now  most  illustrious  of  American  names, 
—  on  whose  shoulder  rested  the  hand  of  Washington; 
whose  foresight  had  so  much  to  do  with  the  triumph  at 
Saratoga,  though  his  wounds  deprived  him  of  participation 
in  it ;  who  received  the  sword  of  Cornwallis  at  Yorktown  ; 
whose  aides,  Shute,  not  yet  through  coUege,  Rice,  Bay- 


176  THE  SPIRIT  OF  1775. 

lies,  Barker,  were  of  the  blood  of  your  best  families ;  and 
who  quelled  Shay's  Rebellion  less  by  military  skill  than 
by  his  prudent  sense ;  the  town  where  Lafayette,  at 
once  boy  and  statesman,  major-general  and  knight-errant, 
supped  on  bread  and  milk  and  patted  the  head  of  a  lit'jle 
child,  who  lived  to  become  the  mother  of  our  distin- 
guished village  historian ;  the  town,  whose  honored  meet- 
ing-house, the  most  ancient  in  the  land,  already  old  when 
the  Adamses  were  children,  is  about  to  celebrate  its 
second  centennial,  linking  its  worshipers  of  to-day  with 
those  who  worshiped  in  its  walls  a  hundred  years  before 
our  independence ;  the  town  where  —  not  its  least  distinc- 
tion —  lived  John  A.  Andrew,  who  may  well  rank  with 
any  patriot  of  Revolutionary  fame.  It  is  an  occasion  per- 
fected by  the  women  of  the  Revolutionary  sort,  patriotic 
as  Abigail  Adams  or  Flora  McDonald,  without  whose 
help  nothing  in  modern  times  proceeds,  whether  it  be  war 
or  picnics,  education  or  a  tea  party,  —  nothing  except  it 
be  the  ballot  box,  from  which  I  am  afraid  we  exclude  them 
not  because  we  doubt  but  because  we  are  sure  of  their 
ample  ability  to  take  it  into  their  own  hands.  It  is  an 
occasion  preliminary  to  the  greater  occasion  at  Philadel- 
phia another  year,  but  its  object  is  the  same,  to  awaken 
the  memories  of  the  past,  to  promote  the  admiration  of 
patriotic  virtues,  the  love  of  fatherland,  the  value  of 
union  among  ourselves,  the  unity  of  Massachusetts,  of  the 
United  States,  of  America,  with  the  world.  In  the  Cen- 
tennial at  Philadelphia  the  scenes  of  a  hundred  years  ago 
will  be  repeated.  Again  the  leading  spirits  of  North  and 
South  and  East  and  West  will  come  together  over  the 
mountains  and  rivers  with  all  their  variety  of  dress  and 
habit  and  production.  Again  will  cross  the  sea  the  Brit- 
ish forces  emulous  for  the  contest,  invading  the  ports  of 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  1775.  177 

Boston  and  New  York,  marching  over  the  field  of  Brandy- 
wine,  through  the  historic  Jerseys  and  down  from  Canada 
by  the  lakes  and  the  Hudson  to  captui'e  us  at  Philadel- 
phia. Again  will  pour  in  upon  us  the  resources  of  France 
and  Germany  and  the  enthusiastic  interest  of  all  Europe. 
But  there  will  be  no  bloodshed;  the  sword  has  been 
beaten  into  a  plowshare  and  the  spear  into  a  pruning- 
hook.  Instead  of  the  scream  of  the  deadly  sheU  is  the 
whistle  of  the  locomotive,  emblem  of  the  magnificent  pro- 
portions of  the  trade,  transportation,  and  commerce  of 
the  nineteenth  century !  Instead  of  the  roar  of  musketry 
are  the  din  of  looms  and  the  buzz  of  machinery  singing 
songs  of  the  home,  the  fireside,  the  happy  circles  of  do- 
mestic cheer !  Instead  of  the  bugle  blast  to  sound  the 
charge  is  the  music  of  the  orchestra  to  lead  the  dance 
and  of  the  civic  festival  to  inspire  the  orator !  Instead 
of  the  groans  of  wounded  and  dying  foemen  are  the 
friendly  voices  of  a  million  hearts  united  in  a  common 
enjoyment  and  zest  of  the  glad  jubilee  of  all  the  na- 
tions. The  contests  and  the  laurels  will  be  those  of  peace 
and  not  of  war,  whose  bloody  victories  we  glorify  not 
for  themselves,  but  because  their  justification  is  in  their 
blessed  fruition  of  peace.  Is  not  the  century  worth  some- 
thing, which  terminates  like  this,  whose  hundredth  year 
blossoms  with  reconciliation,  reunion,  material  prosperity, 
and  the  cordial  cooperation  of  the  peoples  of  the  earth 
in  celebrating  the  triumphs  of  peaceful  arts,  of  useful 
manufactures,  of  beneficent  industries,  and  a  high  civili- 
zation ?  Let  us  see  that  patriots  are  at  the  head  of  our 
forces,  that  our  Massachusetts  maintains  her  old  conti- 
nental preeminence  in  the  field  and  the  council,  and  that 
Hingham's  quota  fails  not  for  the  first  time.  Let  the  Cen- 
tennial at  Philadelphia  give  to  the  world  an  impulse  in 


178  THE  SPIRIT  OF  1775. 

the  grand  progress  of  the  age  worthy  of  that  it  there 
received  on  the  Fourth  of  July,  1776,  when  Washington 
was  our  standard  bearer ;  when  Franldin  was  the  wisest 
man  after  Diogenes ;  and  since  when,  all  the  leaders  of 
the  infant  republic,  its  warriors  in  the  field,  its  statesmen 
in  the  congress,  have  seemed  to  us,  looking  at  them 
through  the  glorifying  mist  of  the  century,  so  grand  and 
heroic  that  with  fond  exaggeration  we  say,  there  were 
giants  in  the  earth  in  those  days. 


ADDEESS 

At  the  Dedication  of  the  Wallace  and  Converse  Memorial 
Library  Buildings,  at  Fitchburg  and  Malden,  July  1  and 
October  1, 1885. 

This  is  one  of  those  occasions  which  illustrate  the 
poverty  and  inexpressiveness  of  words  and  things,  and 
the  inexhaustible  riches  of  the  ideal.  We  cheat  ourselves 
with  the  delusion  that  to-day  we  dedicate  the  magnificent 
walls  and  graceful  proportions  of  a  public  library  build- 
ing wrought  out  of  wood  and  stone.  Not  so.  Its  ap- 
pointments are  but  symbols,  noble  and  exquisite  in  them- 
selves but  faint  and  fleeting  in  comparison  with  that 
deeper  reality,  —  that  reality  of  ideality,  inexpressible  in 
human  language  or  architectural  material,  —  the  reality 
of  the  love  of  the  human  heart,  of  the  charity  of  human 
brotherhood,  of  the  eternal  progress  of  the  human  mind, 
of  the  mastery  of  human  industry,  —  of  all  which  they 
are  only  the  suggestion.  If  you  would  therefore  trace 
the  true  sources  of  this  splendid  edifice,  you  will  go,  not 
to  any  plan  of  architect,  but  into  the  sacred  recesses  of 
the  human  heart.  If  you  would  seek  its  purpose,  you  will 
find  it  in  no  monumental  impression  upon  the  public  eye, 
or  against  the  background  of  the  blue  heaven,  but  in  the 
generous,  unrestricted  treasures  of  instruction  and  soulful 
delight,  which  from  this  time  henceforth  it  will  pour  out 
upon  this  community.  If  you  would  learn  its  lesson,  it  is 
that  of  the  march  of  a  civilization  of  all  the  people  which 
stops  short  at  no  milestone  of  progress,  and  in  which  it  is 


180  LIBRARIES. 

itself  only  a  step.  If  you  would  follow  its  construction, 
you  will  think  not  alone  of  the  generosity  that  gave  or  the 
brain  that  planned  it,  but  of  the  varied  and  busy  hands, 
representing  every  branch  of  mechanical  art  and  honest 
labor,  which  have  contributed  to  its  rise  from  the  first 
blow  of  the  pickaxe  to  the  nicest  touch  of  the  carver's 
artistic  chisel.  You,  with  a  citizen's  pride,  have  often 
gazed  at  its  impressive  architecture  and  read  the  poem  of 
its  beautiful  interior  finish.  I,  with  a  stranger's  curiosity 
and  pleasure,  have  visited  it.  I  looked  upon  its  massive 
walls,  —  its  heavy  blocks  of  brown  sandstone,  —  its  carved 
ornamentation.  I  entered  its  doors  and  stood  alone  under 
its  arches.  I  saw  the  interminable  series  of  vacant  shelves, 
soon  to  bend  beneath  their  precious  weight  of  literature, 
—  the  panelings  of  quartered  oak,  —  the  great  generous 
fireplace,  suggestive  of  the  old-time  New  England  hospi- 
tality, —  the  tables  yet  bare,  —  the  art  gallery  waiting  for 
its  decoration  of  sculpture  and  painting.  Yet  not  alone. 
For,  looking  back  through  the  vista  of  the  past  year,  I 
saw  those  spaces  alive  with  the  workmanship  of  Amer- 
ican industry,  ringing  with  the  sound  of  the  haimner,  the 
trowel,  and  the  saw,  and  I  realized  the  noblest  feature  of 
our  American  system  in  this,  —  that  the  very  labor  and 
toil,  even  the  crudest  and  humblest,  which  wrought  and 
built  and  went  into  this  library  building,  are  them- 
selves the  beneficiaries  which  are  to  profit  by  it,  and 
henceforth  to  enjoy  its  inestimable  blessings,  —  building, 
indeed,  better  than  they  knew.  Happy  and  fortunate  the 
benefactors,  who,  touching  in  the  chamber  of  their  hearts 
an  electric  knob,  thus  set  in  motion  the  industrial  activi- 
ties which  bear  such  fruit,  such  mercy  a  thousand  times 
blessed,  for  giver  and  recipient  alike ;  but  I  do  them  only 
justice,  I  am  sure,  and  express  only  their  thought,  when  I 


LIBRARIES.  181 

say  that  their  happiest  satisfaction  is  that  this  gift  of  theirs 
represents  not  their  contribution  alone,  but  the  contribu- 
tion also  of  many  of  those  in  whose  behalf  they  erect  and 
dedicate  it. 

But  looking  forward  through  the  vista  of  the  years  to 
come,  I  was  conscious  still  more  of  another  realization. 
The  mellow  afternoon  sun  threw  its  glory  on  carved  col- 
umns and  groaning  shelves.  The  evening  lights  flashed 
down  their  splendor.  The  alcoves  swarmed.  The  tables 
were  laden.  The  walls  were  hung  with  works  of  art. 
The  sculptured  marble  seemed  instinct  with  the  breath 
of  life.  Best  of  all,  the  aisles  and  niches  were  alive 
with  humanity.  Men  and  women,  little  children,  school- 
boys and  girls,  rich  and  poor,  the  man  of  leisure  and 
the  workman  coming  from  his  toil,  came  in  and  out  and 
drank  freely  of  the  waters  of  life.  For  the  value  of 
this  edifice  is  not  in  its  architectural  proportions  and  its 
cunning  workmanship  of  frame  and  finish.  It  is  in  the 
magnificent  use,  the  generous  and  ennobling  service  to 
which  it  is  consecrated.  Literally  a  treasure-house  of 
knowledge,  an  inexhaustible  mine  of  education,  —  the 
monopoly  of  no  man  or  body  of  men,  —  it  is  thrown  wide 
open  for  generations  to  come  to  the  free  common  resort 
and  possession  of  the  people.  A  Roman  emperor,  wasting 
the  substance  of  the  state  in  selfish  wars,  or  to  feed  his 
own  luxurious  depravity,  tickled  his  starving  subjects  with 
now  and  then  the  pageant  of  a  procession,  the  blood  of 
the  gladiatorial  arena,  or  the  distribution  of  corn  as 
modern  travelers  throw  coins  to  Italian  beggars.  To-day 
an  American  citizen,  one  in  the  front  ranks  of  a  free  and 
equal  community,  architect  of  his  own  deserved  and  lib- 
eral fortune,  loyal  to  the  needs  and  ambition  of  his  common 
citizenship,  paying  tribute  to   those   foundations  of  the 


182  LIBRARIES. 

American  polity  which  are  the  general  intelligence  and 
virtue  of  the  people,  wresting  nothing  from  others,  but 
giving  of  his  own,  opens  in  the  heart  of  your  city  an  un- 
failing well-spring  of  public  education  and  delight.  He 
smites  the  hard  rock  of  this  intense  American  industrial 
and  material  system,  and  lo !  the  waters  of  life,  rich  with 
nutrition  for  the  whole  intellectual  and  moral  nature,  gush 
forth.  They  crystallize  in  a  public  library  and  art-build- 
ing that  shall  insure  the  range  of  published  study  and 
inquiry,  free  reading-rooms,  and  the  treasures  of  science, 
art,  and  literature.  If  you  would  measure  its  value  you 
will  not  reckon  the  land,  or  stone,  or  wood,  or  even  the 
more  than  hundred  thousand  dollars  that  have  gone  into 
its  construction.  You  would  measure  it,  as  I  am  sure 
the  givers  do,  by  looking  along  the  expanding  vista  of  the 
time  to  come.  You  will  here  see  some  future  Bunyan,  of 
rapt  imagination,  saved  by  its  illumination  of  inquiry  and 
truth  from  those  terrors  and  hideous  fancies  of  religious 
frenzy  which,  until  the  serenity  of  a  loftier  faith  came 
to  him,  drove  the  young  tinker  of  Bedford  almost  to  the 
madness  of  despair,  though  I  fear  you  would  lose  the 
vivid  allegory  of  "  The  Pilgrim's  Progress."  You  will  pic- 
ture here  the  eager  face  of  some  later  Abraham  Lincoln, 
burnt  brown  with  the  sunshine  of  the  farm,  some  Henry 
Wilson  hastening  from  the  shoemaker's  lap-stone,  some 
mechanic  from  his  bench,  the  men  and  women  of  your 
industries,  —  all  here  enjoying  a  society  of  refinement  and 
culture,  a  communion  with  the  master-spirits  of  all  time, 
an  education  in  all  the  humanities.  The  myths  of  classic 
time  will  here  be  the  homeliest  of  facts.  The  goddess  of 
all  knowledge  will  spring,  full  equipped,  from  the  cleft 
of  a  mightier  than  pagan  godhead,  —  the  open  volume  of 
a  book.     The  winged  Pegasus  that  bears  its  rider  to  the 


LIBRARIES.  183 

stars  will  be  the  leaves,  —  more  precious  than  the  sibyl's, 
—  the  leaves  on  these  clustering  shelves,  from  which  no 
idle  wind  will  flutter  them.  The  sweetest  poetry  of  writ- 
ten verse  will  be  but  as  homely  prose  to  the  poetry  of  the 
actuality  of  this  scene.  Maud  MuUer's  "wish  that  she 
hardly  dared  to  own,  for  something  better  than  she  had 
known,"  will  be  realized  in  a  companionship  and  sur- 
rounding such  as  the  Judge's  hand,  had  he  conferred  it, 
never  could  have  brought.  The  "barefoot  boy"  will 
indeed  have  more  than  the  "  million-doUared  "  can  buy. 
In  the  town  in  which  I  live  we  have,  like  you,  a  public 
library,  founded  by  the  munificence  of  a  citizen.  Walk- 
ing from  it  one  perfect  September  day,  I  overtook  a 
child  slow  sauntering  before  me.  In  her  dress  was  the 
evidence  of  that  pathetic  poverty  which  seeks  to  hide  its 
destitution  with  the  mother's  midnight  needle  and  the 
prudent  patch.  Her  broken  and  over-crushed  shoes,  a 
mile  too  large,  were  the  evident  gratuity  of  charity.  But 
under  each  arm  was  a  library  book,  and  in  her  hands  a 
third,  held  wide  open,  which  she  read  as  she  walked. 
Passing,  I  caught,  under  the  torn  hat-brim,  that  intelligent 
child-face,  traced  with  a  pensive  sadness,  which  is  so  often 
seen  among  the  children  of  the  poor.  Apparently  my 
salutation  woke  the  blue  eyes,  which  trembled  up,  from  a 
dream  in  which  all  consciousness  of  the  actual  time  and 
place  had  been  lost,  and  in  which  the  soul  was  living  in 
the  transcendent  ranges  of  an  upper  world, — the  world 
of  the  aspiring  imagination,  —  the  world  of  literature  and 
mind,  —  the  world  in  which  all  the  good  and  wise  and 
lovely  are  our  society.  Is  it  nothing  to  have  conferred 
such  a  blessing  on  one  of  God's  little  ones,  —  to  have 
made  such  an  one  the  messenger  of  glad  tidings  to  some 
humble  household,  which,  under  the  gifts  she  was  bringing. 


184  LIBRARIES. 

would  gladden  into  happiness  and  instruction  ?  Measure 
the  value  of  your  public  library !  Suppose  for  one  mo- 
ment that  its  contents  were  blotted  out ;  that  the  world  of 
books  were  consumed  ;  that  the  records  of  history,  science, 
and  fiction  —  the  vehicles  of  fact  and  event,  of  discovery 
and  truth,  of  imagination  and  poetry  —  were  a  lost  art. 
Why,  we  live  less  in  the  present  than  in  the  past;  less  in 
ourselves  than  in  the  atmosphere  and  society  which  history 
and  literature  have  created !  What  man  in  this  region  of 
the  earth  is  so  open  to  you  in  his  heart  and  thought  and 
dreams  as  David,  or  Emerson,  or  Thackeray  ?  Of  what 
man  here  do  you  know  so  much  as  of  Washington  or 
Bonaparte  ?  In  whose  poetic  tendernesses  or  aspirations 
do  you  find  half  the  sympathy  you  find  in  Longfellow 
and  Whittier  ?  What  drama  of  domestic  or  public  life  is 
half  so  familiar  as  that  of  Walter  Scott  and  Shakespeare  ? 
Which  of  your  neighbors  can  hold  you  with  the  illumi- 
nated talk-torrent  of  Macaulay  ?  Is  there  nothing,  too,  to 
be  said  in  praise  of  an  agency  which  thus  sweeps  our  vision 
and  our  interests  out  of  the  small  and  inbreeding  confines 
of  local  friction  and  gossip  into  these  world-wide  and 
time- wide  ranges  of  creative  power?  Here  in  his  single 
hand  the  citizen  grasps  the  universe.  Here  he  listens 
to  the  debates  of  Congress.  Here  he  watches  the  move- 
ments of  armies  on  Afghan  or  Egyptian  fields.  Here  he 
studies  the  diplomatic  contests  of  Europe,  and  looks  over 
their  shoulders  into  the  hands  of  negotiating  ambassadors. 
Here  he  is  member  of  the  senates  of  the  world.  Here 
he  traces  the  comet  in  the  sky,  or  cuts  Isthmian  canals,  or 
explores  the  icy  terrors  of  the  pole,  or  in  the  exquisite 
realm  of  the  imagination  sings  with  the  poet  and  inquires 
with  the  philosopher.  Here  solitude  becomes  society. 
The  soul  is  supreme  master  of  the  realm,  and  man  recog- 


LIBRARIES.  185 

nizes  that  he  is  a  god.  It  is  more  than  a  school,  —  more 
than  education  ;  it  is  absolute  possession.  The  scholar  is 
king,  and  every  citizen  is  a  scholar.  His  soul  inherits  the 
earth.  No  devil  tempts  him,  yet  his  are  all  the  kingdoms 
of  the  world,  and  all  the  glory  of  them. 

While  this  building  is  unique  in  its  purpose  it  is  yet  — 
to  the  honor  of  our  American  civilization  be  it  said  — 
only  in  the  line  and  easy  evolution  of  our  New  England 
system.  It  is  as  much  a  flower  of  the  Pilgrim  and  Puri- 
tan seed,  as  much  a  part  of  the  providential  scheme  of  the 
Mayflower  and  of  John  Winthrop's  landing,  as  much 
fused  with  the  flavor  of  Harry  Vane,  as  much  a  result  of 
that  vote  of  1647,  which  declared  that  "  learning  should 
not  be  buried  in  the  graves  of  our  forefathers,"  as  is  Har- 
vard College,  or  our  common  school  system,  or  as  if  every 
stone  under  its  roof,  every  book  on  its  shelves,  every  pic- 
ture upon  its  walls,  had  been  in  the  mind's  eye  of  the 
founders  of  Massachusetts.  Still  more  does  it  partake  of 
the  elements  of  our  later  consummations, — our  marvelous 
industrial  growths.  In  its  very  amplitude  it  yet  embodies 
the  idea  of  that  homely  saving  economy,  that  intelligent 
thrift,  that  careful  provision  for  future  needs,  which  char- 
acterize New  England.  It  embodies  the  idea  of  those 
great  agencies  and  massings  of  skilled  and  citizenized 
labor,  which  at  once  employ  a  multitude  of  hands  and  at 
the  same  time  stimulate  as  many  activities  of  invention 
and  brain,  and  so  combine  manual  toil  and  intellectual 
genius  in  that  splendid  union  of  which  our  national  insti- 
tutions are  at  once  the  cause  and  the  residt.  Thence 
comes  the  steady  expansion  of  general  prosperity ;  the  in- 
creasing thriving  of  the  body  of  the  people ;  the  greater 
independence  and  comfortable  self-support  of  families; 
their  homes  in  separate  dwellings  of  their  own,  into  each 


186  LIBRARIES. 

of  which  flows  a  growing  tide  of  refinement,  culture,  and 
amusement ;  the  enlargement  of  public  education,  and  the 
advancing  standard  of  the  schools ;  the  saturation  of  the 
press,  and  the  consequent  connection  of  local  life  with  cos- 
mopolitan interests ;  along  with  these  the  accumulation 
by  individuals  here  and  there  of  large  fortunes  to  a  good 
purpose,  provided  they  be  not  wrenched  out  of  others' 
earnings,  but,  on  the  contrary,  constitute,  in  the  very  pro- 
cess of  their  accumulation,  the  fund  of  others'  earnings ; 
and  then  at  last  the  public  spirit  in  some  such  individual, 
which,  hardly  more  by  his  own  impulse  than  by  the  com- 
manding general  sentiment  of  which  he  is  almost  the  in- 
voluntary servant  and  expression,  appropriates  a  part  of 
his  fortune  back  to  the  public  use  and  service.  Can  there 
be  a  finer  tribute  to  labor  than  that  thus,  by  its  own  in- 
herent law  of  action,  operating  under  our  institutions  of 
political  freedom,  it  ministers  to  its  own  nobler  needs 
even  in  the  very  act  of  its  own  exercise,  whether  execut- 
ing the  designs  of  the  nicest  skill  and  most  scientific 
mechanisms,  or  faithfully  hewing  wood  and  drawing 
water,  —  its  own  hand  providing  for  the  education  of  its 
head  and  the  refinement  of  its  heart  ?  Behold  a  marvel 
more  wondrous  than  any  tale  of  magical  conjuration  or 
oriental  myth !  For  not  in  the  closet  of  the  student,  not 
in  the  shade  of  the  cloister,  not  in  the  vista  of  the  poet, 
not  on  the  campus  of  a  college ;  but  straight  out  of  the 
busiest,  most  intense,  hardest-headed  and  hardest-handed 
material  concentration  of  industrial,  manufacturing,  money- 
making,  labor-employing  forces  and  enterprise,  springs 
this  fair  flower  of  the  gentlest  humanities,  this  grace  of 
art,  this  fountain  of  letters,  this  frozen  song  of  architect- 
ure !  What  is  this  but  poetry  and  religion,  —  the  tribute 
of  the  creature  to  God, — the  obeisance  of  matter  to  mind, 


LIBRARIES.  187 

of  toil  to  rest,  of  the  hard,  practical  forces  to  their  mas- 
ter, the  spirit  of  thought  and  vision,  —  the  recognition  of 
that  spiritual,  that  mental  and  moral  sovereignty  which 
is  the  divine  equality  of  all  the  children  of  God  and  to 
which  all  lower  life  with  its  inequalities  of  circumstance, 
its  dross  of  riches,  and  its  grime  of  toil,  is  the  shell  of  the 
chambered  nautilus ! 

Yes,  this  building  typifies  the  true  communism.  Here 
is  the  most  precious  wealth,  the  best  treasures,  —  as  far 
above  all  material  mint  and  anise  and  cummin  as  the 
clouds  above  the  earth,  —  and  aU  is  for  all  alike.  Ah  I 
that  is  the  sweet  assurance  which  letters,  books,  art,  liter- 
ature, and  the  whole  range  of  intellectual  life  give  to  the 
world.  The  vicissitudes  of  fortune,  the  fluctuations  of 
business,  the  rise  and  fall  of  stocks  and  prices,  the  suc- 
cessions of  good  times  and  hard  times,  the  inequalities  of 
material  lot  which  are  inevitable,  nay,  are  the  very  soil 
and  stimulus  of  individual  and  social  bettering, —  aU  these 
cannot  invade  this  realm,  and  he  who  invests  his  happi- 
ness in  this  security  will  never  suffer  bankruptcy.  The 
refinement  and  riches  of  study  and  letters,  open  alike  to 
all,  is  one  of  the  best  lessons  of  this  dedication,  summon- 
ing the  whole  world  to  its  communism  of  goods.  The 
wealth  of  Croesus  could  not  gather  out  of  the  past,  out  of 
the  resources  of  intellectual  treasure,  what  this  new  in- 
closure  will  hold.  And  yet  all  which  this  inclosure  wiU 
hold  will  be,  not  the  monopoly  of  Croesus,  not  his  exclu- 
sive of  you  and  me,  but  our  common  possession ;  and  the 
poorest  child  will  here  come  and  here  command  to  his  side 
statesmen,  poets,  orators,  warriors,  aU  the  greatness  of 
human  career,  to  minister  to  his  pleasure,  companionship, 
and  instruction.  Under  that  vault  will  echo  no  song  of 
the  shirt,  but  the  poet's  song  of   the  woods,  of  enriched 


188  LIBRARIES. 

solitude,  of  the  mind's  paradise.  And  here,  whatever 
his  garb  or  trade  or  circumstance,  the  citizen  student  will 
learn  that  there  is  nothing  so  great  as  his  own  soul ;  and 
that  the  master-spirits  of  all  time,  who  have  inspired  all 
the  volumes  of  all  the  libraries,  exist  not  so  much  in  them- 
selves as  in  their  own  ideals  and  in  the  ideals  of  those  who 
have,  with  varying  exaggeration  and  mirage,  interpreted 
their  deeds  or  words,  reproducing  for  us  poet,  prophet, 
leader,  and  inspirer,  not  out  of  those  limits  and  facts  of 
certain  years  of  our  Lord,  which  are  shifting  guess-work, 
but  out  of  those  subtle  and  worshipful  conceptions  and 
mountings  of  the  human  mind,  which  are  the  eternal  and 
only  truth.  He  will  learn  that  to  him  these  great  spirits 
are  of  most  interest  as  even  thus  they  reflect  his  own 
highest  ideals  and  help  him  realize  them.  Nothing  to  him 
the  royal  robes  or  fragrant  palaces  of  Solomon,  but  every- 
thing to  him  David's  agony  of  pain  or  tumult  of  aspira- 
tion, because  they  are  the  pain  and  aspiration  of  his  own 
heart. 

In  the  engrossments  of  every-day  life,  few  of  us  appre- 
ciate what  a  universal  blessing  a  library  is.  I  have  been 
surprised  and  delighted  in  my  observation  of  our  towns, 
to  find  how  generally  people  of  all  conditions  of  life  and 
degrees  of  means  depend  upon  the  public  library,  —  of 
how  many  a  sick  room  it  is  the  light,  —  of  how  many  a 
poor  man's  home  it  is  the  cheer,  —  of  how  much  leisure 
and  ennui  it  is  the  relief,  —  and  how  thoroughly  well-in- 
formed and  well-read  the  community  is  made  by  its  re- 
sources. Little  does  he  know  of  our  New  England  cul- 
ture who  thinks  it  confined  to  the  select,  or  who  from  a 
thorough  acquaintance  with  New  England  homes  has  not 
almost  invariably  found  in  them  a  wealth  and  variety  of 
book-study,  an  acquaintance  with  the  field  of  authors  and 


LIBRARIES.  189 

their  works,  a  literary  gleaning  and  harvest,  which  a  char- 
acteristic reticence  often  hides,  but  which  are  as  surely 
there  as  the  waters,  whose  flow  is  in  winter  time  unheard, 
are  under  their  mantle  of  ice  and  snow.  But  this  fact  of 
the  eager  and  general  use  of  the  public  library  only  the 
more  emphatically  suggests  that  while  such  a  resource  is 
a  mighty  instrument  for  delight  and  for  good,  we  should 
not  forget  that  it  may  be  made  an  instrument,  also,  for 
evil.  It  is  no  small  responsibility  that  will  fall  on  those, 
who  shall  have  this  trust  in  their  keeping,  to  select  the 
fare  it  is  to  minister  from  its  shelves,  lest  it  demoralize 
rather  than  improve  the  public  tone.  We  are  nowadays 
especially  caref  id  what  is  the  quality  of  the  water  we  sup- 
ply or  the  food  we  distribute  from  the  great  resources  of 
our  metropolitan  centres.  Let  us  be  as  careful  of  the  in- 
tellectual and  moral  supply  which  determines — and  which, 
under  the  incalculable  influence  of  a  public  library,  so 
much  determines  —  the  literary  material  of  the  people,  — 
the  procedures,  not  into  their  mouths,  but  out  of  them,  — 
the  issues  of  the  heart. 

I  congratulate  you  upon  the  completion  and  dedication 
of  this  splendid  building.  It  will  be  an  unfailing  spring 
of  public  instruction.  It  will  teach  the  harmony  and  mu- 
tual dependence  of  our  common  interests.  It  will  be  a 
lesson  of  true  citizenship.  It  is  the  tribute  of  industrial 
activities  to  the  genius  of  letters  and  art  and  to  the  sover- 
eignty of  the  soul.  It  is  an  inspiration  to  labor  and  to 
the  spirit  of  progress.  To  you  and  to  your  children  it 
wiU  be  an  endeared  memorial  of  those  who  gave  it.  In 
no  shaded  seclusion,  but  here,  —  here  in  the  heart  of  your 
city  and  of  its  all-enriching  industries,  —  stands  their 
monument,  alike  characteristic  of  their  generosity  and  of 
its  steadily  expanding  public  spirit  and  demand. 


GOYERNOK  ANDREW. 

Written  for  "  Hingham  in  the  Civil  War,  1876,"  and  Read 
AT  the  Dinner  of  the  Commercial  Club,  Parker  House, 


Hingham  has  the  proud  distinction  of  having  been  the 
home  of  John  Albion  Andrew,  governor  of  Massachusetts 
during  the  entire  period  of  the  rebellion,  and  of  now,  in 
accordance  with  the  wish  he  once  expressed  before  the 
citizens  of  Hingham,  tenderly  cherishing  in  her  soil  his 
sacred  ashes.  It  is  fitting  that  his  name  should  stand  at 
the  head  of  the  list  of  her  heroic  dead. 

It  is  unnecessary  to  give  more  than  the  barest  bio- 
graphical outline  of  one  whose  life  and  services  are 
already  a  part  of  the  national  literature,  imprinted  on  its 
brightest  pages.  He  was  born  of  worthy  New  England 
stock,  at  South  Windham,  in  the  State  of  Maine,  May 
31,  1818.  The  comfortable  circumstances  of  his  father 
procured  him  a  good  academical  education  and  a  colle- 
giate course  at  Brunswick.  He  was  a  glad,  wholesome, 
noble  boy,  with  open  face  and  curly  head,  and  a  brave, 
generous,  and  buoyant  heart,  fond  of  history,  reading 
widely,  with  a  taste  for  poetry  and  elegant  literature, 
with  no  exalted  rank  as  a  plodding  scholar,  but  with 
always  a  tendency  towards  broad  views  and  humane  senti- 
ments. Even  in  those  days,  the  anti-slavery  cause  had 
touched  his  heart ;  and  the  faint  whisper  of  the  approach- 
ing storm  was  awakening  his  pulses  to  that  love  of  free- 
dom and  respect  for  human  rights  which  so  signally 
found  expression  in  his  later  life. 


GOVERNOR  ANDREW.  191 

In  1837  Andrew  entered  the  law  office  of  Henry  H. 
Fuller,  Esq.,  of  Boston.  He  pursued  for  twenty  years 
the  ordinary  course  of  his  profession,  making  now  and 
then  a  stump  speech  or  a  literary  oration,  and  constantly 
rising  in  practice  and  reputation.  In  December,  1848, 
he  married  Eliza  Jones  Hersey  of  this  town,  whom  he 
had  met  at  an  anti-slavery  fair  in  Boston ;  and  from  that 
period,  for  a  great  part  of  the  time,  he  resided  in  Hing- 
ham.  Here  was  his  home,  here  children  were  born  unto 
him,  here  he  walked  to  church  and  sang  the  familiar 
hymns  and  taught  the  Sunday  school.  Here  his  rare  and 
sweet  social  qualities  surrounded  him  with  friends  who 
loved  and  admired  him ;  and  here  his  generous  nature,  his 
fondness  for  natural  scenery,  his  love  of  children,  and  his 
strong  social  attachments,  brought  him  some  of  the  happi- 
est hours  of  his  life. 

While  residing  in  Hingham,  Andrew  was  nominated 
for  State  senator,  but  defeated.  He  had  as  yet  had 
no  entrance  into  political  service.  Nevertheless,  he  was 
daily  becoming  better  known  as  an  intelligent  advocate 
of  progress,  and  for  his  strong  anti-slavery  sentiments. 
In  1854  he  bravely  defended  the  parties  arrested  for  the 
rescue  of  Anthony  Burns,  and  in  1857  was  chosen  to  the 
General  Court  as  representative  of  the  Sixth  Ward  of 
Boston.  In  this  arena  he  rose  at  once  to  distinction. 
Brought  into  conflict  with  Caleb  Cushing,  one  of  the 
astutest  and  most  powerful  debaters  and  thinkers  of  the 
whole  country,  he  carried  off  the  victory  in  the  bitter 
struggle  over  the  removal  of  Judge  Loring.  In  1859  he 
unflinchingly  presided  at  the  stormy  meeting  in  Tremont 
Temple,  for  the  relief  of  John  Brown's  suffering  family, 
declaring  that,  whether  Brown's  enterprise  at  Harper's 
Ferry  were  right   or  wrong,   "John   Brown  himself   is 


192  GOVERNOR  ANDREW. 

right."  In  1860  he  was  a  delegate  to  the  Chicago  presi- 
dential convention,  and  contributed  to  the  nomination  of 
Abraham  Lincoln ;  and  in  1861,  having  been  elected,  by 
a  sort  of  spontaneous  impulse  of  the  heart  of  the  Com- 
monwealth, as  the  one  fit  man  for  its  magistracy,  took 
his  seat  as  governor  of  the  State.  In  April,  the  rebellion 
already  at  its  outburst,  came  the  call  for  arms ;  and,  as 
if  Providence  had  raised  him  up  for  the  place,  Andrew 
responded  to  it  with  that  electric  promptness,  that  mag- 
netic fervor,  that  soulful  devotion,  which,  from  that  day 
forward  till  the  end  of  the  war,  animated  him  under  all 
circumstances,  and  imparted  to  the  people  at  large  the 
enthusiasm  of  his  own  ardent  nature.  His  great  heart 
breathed  in  that  now  historic  telegram  to  the  Mayor  of 
Baltimore :  "  I  pray  you  to  let  the  bodies  of  our  Massa- 
chusetts soldiers,  dead  in  Baltimore,  be  laid  out,  preserved 
in  ice,  and  tenderly  sent  forward  by  express  to  me." 

Unsuspected  powers  at  once  put  forth  in  him,  his  pub- 
lic addresses  thrilled  with  loftier  notes,  his  executive  ener- 
gies expanded  to  the  widest  limit  of  his  countless  duties 
and  labors ;  the  quiet  citizen  and  plodding  lawyer  budded 
in  a  day  into  the  grandest  measure  of  the  statesman  and 
leader ;  and  it  seemed  almost  a  dream  that  our  good- 
humored  neighbor  was  indeed  the  foremost  governor  in 
the  Union,  the  most  chivalrous,  if  not  the  greatest,  civi- 
lian of  the  war.  At  the  assembling  of  loyal  governors  at 
Altoona,  Pa.,  September  24,  1862,  his  was  the  leading 
spirit  that  urged  new  vigor  in  the  prosecution  of  the  cam- 
paign. When  negro  regiments  began  to  be  formed,  he 
was  among  the  first  to  organize  them,  prescient  of  their 
efficiency  and  gallantry  in  the  field.  In  all  that  could 
stimulate  the  soul  of  the  nation,  in  all  that  could  wake  its 
patriotic  fire,  yet  none  the  less  in  the  most  watchful  care 


GOVERNOR  ANDREW.  193 

of  the  home  interests  of  the  State,  of  its  institutions  of 
charity  and  correction,  he  was  always  foremost ;  and  the 
activity  of  his  life  and  labors  was  almost  superhuman. 
Says  the  Rev.  Dr.  Clarke,  "  He  worked  like  the  great 
engine  in  the  heart  of  a  steamship." 

With  the  war,  his  term  of  office  as  governor  expiring, 
he  resumed  the  practice  of  the  law.  In  1866  he  was 
chosen  president  of  the  New  England  Historic-Genealogi- 
cal Society.  In  1867,  with  the  same  bravery  and  heroism 
that  had  marked  him  thitherto,  though  against  the  judg- 
ment of  many  of  his  friends,  he  began  his  strenuous  and 
able  assaults  upon  the  prohibitory  law  of  the  State.  All 
this  time  his  broad  national  reputation,  his  great  popu- 
larity, his  sound  judgment,  his  conciliatory  and  liberal 
sentiments,  were  marking  him  as  the  coming  man  in  the 
national  councils.  It  seemed  as  if  years  of  new  useful- 
ness lay  before  him.     But  he  had  finished  his  work. 

On  the  30th  of  October,  1867,  he  died  at  his  residence 
in  Boston.  His  remains  were  afterwards  brought  to 
Hingham  ;  and  on  the  30th  of  October,  1869,  after  sol- 
emn services  in  the  New  North  Church,  at  which  he  had 
formerly  been  an  attendant,  his  Boston  pastor,  James 
Freeman  Clarke,  pronouncing  the  address,  he  was  buried 
in  our  cemetery,  near  its  crest,  and  not  far  from  the  Sol- 
diers' Monument.  At  his  feet  are  the  village  he  loved, 
the  branches  under  which  he  sauntered,  and  the  pictur- 
esque stretch  of  the  bay  over  which  he  had  so  many  times 
gone  to  and  from  his  home.  He  rests  at  scarce  the  dis- 
tance of  the  sound  of  the  voice  from  the  threshold  on 
which  he  stood  when  on  the  3d  of  September,  1860,  he 
addressed  his  fellow-citizens  of  Hingham,  who  had  come 
to  congratulate  him  on  his  nomination  as  governor,  and 
in  the  course  of  his  remarks  spoke  these  hearty  words  ;  — 


194  GOVERNOR  ANDREW. 

"  I  confess  to  you,  my  old  neighbors,  associates,  and 
kinspeople  of  Hingliam,  that  I  could  more  fitly  speak  by 
tears  than  by  words  to-night.  From  the  bottom  of  my 
heart  for  this  unsought,  enthusiastic,  and  cordial  welcome 
I  thank  you.  I  understand  —  and  this  thought  lends 
both  sweetness  and  pathos  to  the  emotions  of  the  hour  — 
I  am  here  to-night  among  neighbors,  who  for  the  moment 
are  all  agreed  to  differ  and  all  consenting  to  agree. 

"  How  dear  to  my  heart  are  these  fields,  these  spread- 
ing trees,  this  verdant  grass,  this  sounding  shore,  where 
now  for  fourteen  years,  through  summer  heat  and  some- 
times through  winter  storms,  I  have  trod  your  streets, 
rambled  through  your  woods,  sauntered  by  your  shores, 
sat  by  your  firesides,  and  felt  the  warm  pressure  of  your 
hands,  sometimes  teaching  your  children  in  the  Sunday 
school,  sometimes  speaking  to  my  fellow  citizens,  always 
with  the  cordial  friendship  of  those  who  differ  from  me 
oftentimes  in  what  they  thought  the  radicalism  of  my 
opinions.  Here  —  here  I  have  found  most  truly  a  home 
for  the  soul  free  from  the  cares  and  turmoil  and  respon- 
sibilities of  a  careful  and  anxious  profession.  Away  from 
the  busier  haunts  of  men  it  has  been  given  to  me  here 
to  find  a  calm  and  sweet  retreat.  Here  too,  dear  friends, 
I  have  found  the  home  of  my  heart.  It  was  into  one  of 
your  families  that  I  entered  and  joined  myself  in  holy 
bonds  of  domestic  love  to  one  of  the  daughters  of  your 
town.  Here,  too,  I  have  first  known  a  parent's  joys  and 
a  parent's  sorrows.  Whether  you  say  aye  or  no  to  my 
selection,  John  A.  Andrew  is  ever  your  friend." 

Governor  Andrew,  when  in  Hingham,  lived  on  the  east 
side  of  Main  Street,  in  the  first  house  northerly  from 
Water  Street,  in  the  Hinckley  house  on  the  same  and  in 
the  Thaxter  house  on  the  opposite  side  of  Main  Street, 


GOVERNOR  ANDREW.  195 

in  the  old  Hersey  house  on  Summer  Street,  overlooking 
the  blue  water  and  sweet  with  the  fragrance  of  clover 
fields,  and  also  in  the  Bates  house  on  South  Street.  His 
habits,  like  his  nature,  were  simple.  He  loved  to  drive 
and  walk ;  he  enjoyed  the  breezy  trips  and  neighborly 
chat  of  the  steamer ;  his  heart  went  out  to  children  and 
won  them ;  he  was  especially  fond  of  conversation,  full  of 
anecdote  and  story,  and  not  averse  to  controversial  discus- 
sion. His  humor  and  cheer  were  always  abundant.  He 
sang  old  psalms,  he  recited  noble  poems  that  dwelt  in  his 
memory,  he  was  running  over  with  the  quaint  history  of 
old  times  and  odd  characters,  and  to  the  last  there  never 
faded  in  his  breast  the  warm,  glad  enthusiasm  of  boy- 
hood. His  sympathies  were  touched  as  quickly  as  a 
girl's ;  each  year  he  went  to  Maine  to  stand  beside  the 
grave  of  his  mother ;  each  day  some  sad  woman  or  poor 
boy  thanked  him  for  his  humanity,  for  in  him  the  unfor- 
tunate always  had  a  helper  and  friend.  No  heart  less 
generous  could  have  uttered  those  memorable  words  that 
expressed  his  great  and  genuine  humanity:  "I  know 
not  what  record  of  sin  may  await  me  in  another  world ; 
but  this  I  do  know,  I  never  was  mean  enough  to  despise 
a  man  because  he  was  poor,  because  he  was  ignorant,  or 
because  he  was  black."  Add  to  all  this  his  incorrupti- 
bility and  honesty,  his  fiery  patriotism,  his  unswerving 
sense  of  right  and  wrong,  his  pure  glow  in  act  and  word, 
and  we  may  trust,  that,  as  his  monument  rises  over  his 
grave,  it  will  point  to  the  example  of  purposes  so  lofty,  of 
a  soul  so  magnanimous,  and  a  mind  so  sound,  that  it  will 
be  like  a  beacon  light  to  guide  the  way  of  future  genera- 
tions to  the  like  achievement  of  the  fullness  of  a  noble 
life. 


ORATION 

Delivered  before  the  City  Council  and  Citizens  of  Boston, 
IN  the  Boston  Theatre,  July  4,  1882. 

It  has  seemed  to  you  and  your  associates,  Mr.  Mayor, 
not  unfitting,  that,  once  in  a  century,  a  representative  of 
the  whole  Commonwealth  of  Massachusetts  should  speak 
for  this,  her  capital  city,  on  Independence  Day.  A  hun- 
dred years  ago,  as  now,  their  interests,  their  hopes,  their 
patriotism,  were  one.  If  Boston  seemed  then  to  stand  out 
as  the  proscenium  from  which  the  curtain  of  the  drama 
rose,  the  scene  was  a  rapidly  shifting  one,  and  the  actors 
came  not  alone,  like  Sam  Adams  and  Warren  and  Han- 
cock and  Knox,  from  Boston.  Like  Lincoln  from  Hing- 
ham,  Hawley  from  Northampton,  Prescott  from  Pepperell, 
Heath  from  Roxbury,  Gridley  from  Canton,  John  Adams 
from  Quincy,  Cobb  from  Taunton,  Thomas  from  Kings- 
ton, Ward  from  Shrewsbury,  and  many  others,  they  came 
from  Massachusetts  at  large,  and  so  identified  the  whole 
province  and  this  its  chiefest  town,  as  they  have  been 
identified  from  that  day  to  this,  in  the  cause  of  liberty  and 
progress. 

Mindful,  therefore,  of  the  close  relations  which  have 
thus,  at  all  times,  bound  Massachusetts  and  Boston  to- 
gether, I  thank  you  for  your  courtesy  in  inviting  me  to 
speak  for  you  to-day,  and  I  am  here  in  obedience  to  your 
call.  I  have,  as  needs  must  be  with  a  date  celebrated  now 
for  more  than  a  hundred  anniversaries,  and  with  its  topics 
rehearsed  till  every  possible  variation  has  been  exhausted, 


FOURTH  OF  JULY.  197 

no  new  word  to  utter,  no  illumination  to  throw  upon  the 
picture.  But  the  day  is  our  national  birthday,  and  even 
its  familiar  story  cannot  be  told  too  often,  if  it  shall  wake 
each  year  the  patriotic  pulse  of  a  people  so  free  that  they 
are  almost  unconscious  of  the  value  of  their  birthright  of 
freedom,  or  shall  educate  their  children  to  admire  and 
emulate  the  high  spirit,  the  devotion  to  liberty,  and  the 
love  of  country,  which  inspired  the  fathers  and  founders 
of  the  republic. 

Let  us,  then,  go  back  to  1776,  and  recall  the  scene  and 
event  which  we  now  commemorate,  never  forgetting  that 
they  were  only  links  in  the  chain  which,  under  Provi- 
dence, had  been  forming  for  centuries,  and  forming,  let 
us  also,  in  justice,  remember,  under  English  law,  and 
under  the  inspiration  of  English  hearts.  The  separation 
of  the  colonies  from  Great  Britain  was  the  result  of  no 
single  cause ;  nor  was  it  occasioned  solely  by  reason  of  a 
chivalrous  devotion  to  great  principles  of  constitutional 
right  or  resistance  to  oppression.  The  vast  territory  of 
India,  stretching  over  half  a  continent  and  sunk  in  the 
effeminacy  and  ignorance  of  centuries  of  stagnation,  might 
for  years,  and  may  to-day,  submit  to  the  rapacious  sway 
of  the  British  isles,  —  to  the  terror  of  a  superior  race  en- 
riching themselves  at  its  expense.  But  it  was  not  written 
in  the  book  of  human  destiny  that  the  Christian  civiliza- 
tion of  the  New  World,  the  intellectual  culture  of  New 
England,  the  growing  material  importance  of  New  York 
and  Pennsylvania,  the  high  spirit  of  Virginia  and  the  Car- 
olinas,  —  nay,  that  any  of  our  colonies,  proud  of  their  lin- 
eage, devoted  to  an  independent  faith,  founding  among 
themselves  institutions  of  learning,  expanding  apace  with 
the  very  grandeur  and  extent  of  the  new  continent,  and 
year  by  year  conscious  more  and  more  of  their  rapid 


198  FOURTH  OF  JULY. 

growth  and  coming  domain  and  acliievement,  —  should 
hang  as  a  dependence  on  an  island  in  the  Atlantic,  more 
than  that  the  apple,  ripe  and  round,  should  cling  to  the 
stem  and  shrivel  there  in  premature  decay.  In  such  a 
condition  were  the  very  essentials  to  cultivate  the  spirit 
of  progress,  of  independent  citizenship,  and  of  the  right  of 
intelligent  men,  chafing  under  the  stupid  narrowness  of 
the  dolt  who  happened  at  that  time  to  encumber  the  Brit- 
ish throne,  to  frame  their  own  laws,  and  govern  them- 
selves. The  divine  right  of  kings  was  not  a  doctrine  that 
could  thrive  in  such  soil ;  and  no  sooner  did  the  colonies 
begin,  as  a  result  of  simple  growth,  to  feel  their  power 
and  to  touch  shoulder  with  one  another  in  the  sympathy 
of  their  geographical  and  political  affinities,  than  inde- 
pendence became  inevitable,  and  only  sought  occasion  and 
apology  for  its  own  assertion. 

To  this  end  had  the  instruction  of  the  mother  country 
herself  led.  From  her  own  pulpits,  in  the  songs  of  her 
own  poets,  in  the  words  of  her  own  orators,  in  the  pro- 
gress of  her  own  statesmanship,  had  for  centuries  been 
flowing  influences  that  were  lifting  the  individual  man, 
leveling  the  accidental  potentate,  and  proclaiming  the  un- 
importance of  those  who  govern,  and  the  overwhelming 
consequence  and  needs  of  the  governed,  even  to  the  hum- 
blest citizen.  It  was  a  matter  of  indifference  whether 
Burke  and  Chatham  in  England,  and  Adams  and  Otis 
and  the  town  meetings  of  Massachusetts  Bay  in  Amer- 
ica, lifted  their  voices  in  a  British  parliament  or  in 
Faneuil  Hall  or  Pembroke  town  house.  The  words  they 
spoke,  the  sentiments  they  uttered,  were  eternal  truth, 
and  had  no  local  habitation  or  name.  Under  these  cir- 
cumstances, allegiance  to  Great  Britain  was  nothing  but 
a  habit  and  a  sentiment.      The  moment  it  came   face 


FOURTH  OF  JULY.  199 

to  face  in  conflict  with  a  right,  it  went  to  pieces  like  a 
bubble ;  the  moment  it  involved  the  sacrifice  of  a  prin- 
ciple, the  cost  of  injustice  to  the  smallest  penny,  it  was 
gone  forever.  I  take  it,  there  was  nothing  in  British 
oppression  that  bore  with  special  hardship  on  America. 
It  is  not  likely  that  any  malicious  intent  existed  on  the 
part  of  king  or  ministry  to  wrong  and  tyrannize  over  us ; 
and  both  were  no  doubt  honest  in  their  conviction  that 
we  were  a  stiif-necked  generation,  turning  in  ingratitude 
on  the  parentage  that  had  borne  and  nursed  us.  The 
burdens  at  which  we  actually  rebelled  were  slight  in 
comparison  with  those  which  we  had  previously  borne 
for  years,  especially  during  the  wars  with  France.  In 
comparison  with  those  which,  in  our  recent  civil  war, 
we  inflicted  on  ourselves,  they  were  next  to  nothing.  It 
would  be  hard  to  point  to  the  man  or  community  which, 
prior  to  the  outbreak  of  bad  blood,  suffered  greatly,  in 
person  or  property,  from  British  tyranny.  Even  the  Dec- 
laration of  Independence,  which  we  commemorate  to-day, 
if  you  carefully  peruse  it,  lacks  something  of  that  record 
of  specific  grievances  and  acts  of  oppression,  which  we 
should  expect  in  a  statement  made  in  justification  of  re- 
bellion and  treason.  It  would  not  be  difficult  to  recite 
wrongs  which  other  peoples  have  borne  and  still  bear,  ten- 
fold greater  than  those  from  which  we  wrested  indepen- 
dence. We  who,  in  recent  years,  to  suppress  rebellion, 
willingly  endured  excessive  governmental  interference 
with  personal  rights,  and  who  saw  multitudes  of  new 
offices  created,  and  swarms  of  officials  and  standing 
armies  in  our  midst,  can  hardly  refrain  from  smiling  at 
the  complaints  so  grandiloquently  put  in  1776.  Nor  must 
it  be  overlooked  that  most  of  these  complaints  were  di- 
rected against  the  very  measures  which  were  resorted  to 


200  FOURTH  OF  JULY. 

to  overcome  what  Great  Britain  regarded  as  treason,  and 
which  never  would  have  been  resorted  to  at  all  had  our 
fathers  been  submissive.  I  do  not  mean  that  there  were 
no  grievances.  Grievances  there  were,  such  as  taxation 
without  representation,  though  the  actual  taxes  imposed 
were  slight,  and  in  any  accustomed  form  the  burden  of 
them  would  have  raised  no  murmur ;  such  also  as  the 
general  control  and  management  of  provincial  affairs  by 
an  agency  remote  and  indifferent.  But  these  were  griev- 
ances, not  so  much  invented  and  asserted  by  the  mother 
country  as  inherent  in  the  very  organization  of  her  colo- 
nial system.  It  was  the  instinctive  revulsion  which  an 
intelligent  and  not  inferior  people  felt  for  the  natural 
imfitness  and  injustice  of  the  British  colonial  system  as 
applied  to  a  vigorous  and  seK-conscious  community,  that 
made  any  restraint  intolerable,  and  independence  a  neces- 
sity. To  my  mind  it  is  infinitely  more  creditable  to  our 
fathers  that  freedom  was  in  this  way  the  result,  not  of 
resentment,  but  of  a  high  intellectual  self-respect,  and  of 
the  conviction  that  in  the  maturity  of  their  growth  the 
time  had  come  for  them  to  take  their  own  destiny  into 
their  own  hands. 

Once  inaugurated  the  struggle  leaped  forthwith  to  the 
bitterness  and  desperation  of  the  death-hug.  If  the  pro- 
vocation was  lacking  before,  it  was  lacking  no  longer. 
Fatally  ignorant  of  the  pride,  the  English  thoroughness 
and  tenacity  of  her  own  children,  Great  Britain  adopted 
measures  of  coercion  to  which  they  could  not  and  would 
not  submit.  And  when  there  came  the  Port  Bill  and  the 
Enforcing  Act  and  the  Stamp  Act,  which  were  intended 
to  humiliate  Boston  and  deprive  the  people  of  their  famil- 
iar privileges,  and  place  them  at  the  mercy  of  a  minis- 
terial board  sitting  around  a  table  in  London  city,  the 


FOURTH  OF  JULY.  201 

fatal  step  was  taken  ;  the  error  could  never  be  retrieved  ; 
estrangement  was  only  widening  with  each  forcible  effort 
to  heal  it,  and  the  birth  of  the  new  republic  was  assured. 
The  rebellion  of  1861  failed,  not  because  of  a  lack  of 
brave  men  and  devoted  effort,  but  because  it  was  unfit 
and  out  of  joint  with  the  moral  and  physical  order  of  the 
times.  Unlike  the  American  Revolution,  it  was  a  move- 
ment not  with  but  against  the  lead  of  civilization ;  and 
outside  of  its  original  limits  never  struck  the  spark  of 
sympathy.  In  1776,  however,  the  common  heart  of  the 
whole  line  of  colonies  responded  to  the  peril  of  that  one 
which  was  first  to  suffer.  In  the  fall  of  1774  met  at 
Philadelphia  the  original  Continental  Congress,  more 
with  a  view  to  adjustment  than  to  independence.  Its 
professions  of  loyalty  were  sincere,  and  its  appeals  were 
not  to  arms  but  to  the  sense  of  justice  in  the  mother 
country.  But  the  tide  was  stronger  than  those  who  rode 
it.  The  time  for  the  friendly  arbitrament  of  counsel  and 
delay  was  gone ;  and  when  the  immortal  Second  Con- 
gress met  in  Philadelphia,  in  May,  1775,  Patrick  Henry 
had  already  thundered  in  the  Virginia  Convention  that 
there  was  no  peace,  that  the  war  had  actually  begun,  and 
as  for  him  give  him  liberty  or  give  him  death.  Lexing- 
ton green  had  been  crimsoned  with  the  blood  of  the  em- 
battled fathers,  and  Concord  Bridge  was  already  the 
beginning  of  our  victories,  and  henceforth  the  romance 
of  our  annals.  No  congress  could  make  history  so  fast 
as  it  was  already  making  at  Bunker  Hill,  in  Gloucester 
Harbor,  along  the  shores  of  Quincy  and  Marshfield,  at 
the  entrenchments  around  Boston,  and  in  the  spontaneous 
outburst  of  a  common  enthusiasm,  which  brought  to  the 
camp  imder  Washington,  from  Carolina,  from  Virginia, 
from  Pennsylvania,  from  Maryland,  marching  over  the 


202  FOURTH  OF  JULY. 

mountains,  and  eager  for  the  fray,  the  sons  of  sister  colo- 
nies, the  riflemen  of  Daniel  Morgan,  the  Puritan  and 
cavalier,  the  woodsmen  and  farmers,  the  children  of  the 
Huguenots  and  the  Presbyterians. 

Carrying  out  the  instruction  of  his  constituents,  Rich- 
ard Henry  Lee,  of  Virginia,  the  author  of  the  resolution 
for  independence,  introduced  it  into  Congress  on  the  7th 
of  June,  1776.  It  met  with  the  enthusiastic  support  of 
John  Adams,  who  seconded  it  with  a  fervor  and  power 
that  gained  him  the  appellation  of  the  Colossus.  It  was 
favored  by  the  subtle  and  philosophic  Franklin,  who  not 
only  comprehended  the  grandeur  of  the  occasion,  but 
smarted  to  repay,  in  the  achieved  independence  of  his 
country,  and  in  the  loss  to  Great  Britain  of  her  brightest 
jewels,  the  insults  rankling  in  his  breast,  which,  during  his 
attempt  years  before  to  plead  the  cause  of  America  before 
the  Privy  Council  in  England,  had  been  heaped  upon 
him,  amid  the  sneers  of  a  British  ministry,  by  the  sting- 
ing tongue  of  Attorney-General  Wedderburne.  It  was 
supported,  too,  by  the  inflexible  will  of  Sam  Adams,  and 
no  man  had  from  the  earliest  more  clearly  foreseen  the 
result.  On  the  other  side  was  ranged  the  cautious  Dick- 
inson, of  Philadelphia,  who,  till  that  time  the  most  influ- 
ential member  of  Congress,  now  doubted  whether  the 
hour  for  separation  had  come,  and,  doubting,  was  lost. 
New  York,  hesitating  to  risk  its  commercial  existence, 
had  instructed  its  delegates,  themselves  ripe  enough  for 
the  work,  to  hold  back.  South  Carolina  voted  against 
the  resolution.  Pennsylvania  and  Delaware  were  divided. 
But  these  defections  were  idle.  The  real  resolution  of  in- 
dependence had  long  since  been  uttered.  It  had  been 
the  staple  of  every  town  meeting  in  America,  the  subject 
of  every  fireside  conversation,  the  thought  of  every  farmer 


FOURTH  OF  JULY.  203 

and  mechanic  ;  and  when  the  fifty  men  who  assembled  in 
that  Congress,  adopted  by  more  than  a  two-thirds  vote, 
in  Committee  of  the  Whole,  on  the  first  day  of  July, 
1776,  the  resolution  of  independence,  they  but  gave  ex- 
pression to  the  sentiment  of  America,  as  also  John  Adams 
expressed  it  in  that  unpremeditated  burst  of  eloquence,  of 
which  no  report  exists  except  in  the  traditions  of  its  mag- 
nificent boldness  and  vigor,  and  in  the  imaginary  repro- 
duction of  Webster.  On  the  second  day  of  July  even  the 
fears  of  the  minority  were  overcome,  and  the  resolution 
was  adopted,  without  a  dissenting  vote,  that  the  United 
Colonies  were,  and  of  right  ought  to  be,  free  and  in- 
dependent States.  Two  days  later,  on  the  Fourth,  the 
day  we  celebrate,  the  declaration  of  principles  on  which 
the*  resolution  of  independence  was  founded,  drawn  by 
Thomas  Jefferson,  then  thirty-three  years  of  age,  and 
revised  by  Franklin  and  Adams,  was  presented  and 
adopted,  and,  with  the  broad  sign  manual  of  John  Han- 
cock at  its  foot,  became  the  great  charter  of  the  war,  the 
bulletin  to  England  and  the  world  of  the  justice  and 
dignity  of  our  cause. 

Recall  the  quaint  and  homely  city  of  Philadelphia ; .  the 
gloom  that  hung  over  it  from  the  terrible  responsibility  of 
the  step  there  taken ;  the  modest  hall,  still  standing  and 
baptized  as  the  cradle  of  liberty.  On  its  tower  swung 
the  bell,  which  yet  survives,  with  its  legend,  "  Proclaim 
Liberty  throughout  all  the  Land  to  all  the  In- 
habitants THEREOF."  That  day  it  rang  out  a  procla- 
mation of  liberty  that  will  indeed  echo  through  the  land, 
and  in  the  ears  of  all  the  inhabitants  thereof,  long  after 
the  bell  itself  shall  have  crumbled  into  dust.  Hancock 
is  in  the  President's  chair;  before  him  sit  the  half 
hundred  delegates,  who  at  that  time  represent  America. 


204  FOURTH  OF  JULY. 

Among  the  names  it  is  remarkable  how  many  there  are 
that  have  since  been  famous  in  our  annals,  —  Harrison, 
Lee,  Adams,  Clinton,  Chase,  Stockton,  Paine,  Hopkins, 
Wilson,  Nelson,  Lewis,  Walcott,  Thompson,  Rutleclge, 
and  more.  The  committee  appointed  to  draft  the  decla- 
ration are  Jefferson,  youngest  and  tallest ;  John  Adams ; 
Sherman,  shoemaker ;  Franklin,  printer ;  and  Robert  R. 
Livingston.  If  the  patriot  Sam  Adams,  at  the  sunrise 
of  Lexington,  could  say,  "  Oh !  what  a  glorious  morn- 
ing for  America ! "  how  well  might  he  have  renewed,  in 
the  more  brilliant  noontime  of  July  4,  1776,  the  same 
prophetic  words !  There  is  nothing  in  the  prophecies  of 
old  more  striking  and  impressive  than  the  words  of  John 
Adams,  who  declared  the  event  would  be  celebrated  by 
succeeding  generations  as  a  great  anniversary  festival, 
and  commemorated  as  a  day  of  deliverance  from  one  end 
of  the  continent  to  the  other ;  that  through  all  the  gloom 
he  could  see  the  light ;  that  the  end  was  worth  all  the 
means ;  and  that  posterity  would  triumph  in  the  transac- 
tion. 

I  am  not  of  those  who  overrate  the  past.  I  know  that 
the  men  of  1776  had  the  common  weaknesses  and  short- 
comings of  himianity.  I  read  the  Declaration  of  Inde- 
pendence with  no  feeling  of  awe ;  and  yet  if  I  were  called 
upon  to  select  from  the  history  of  the  world  any  crisis 
grander,  loftier,  purer,  more  heroic,  I  should  know  not 
where  to  turn.  It  seems  simple  enough  to-day.  There 
is  no  schoolboy  who  will  not  tell  you  he  knows  it  by 
heart ;  and  so  much  a  part  of  the  national  fibre  is  it,  that 
the  schoolboy  cannot  conceive  of  his  or  any  American's 
not  declaring  and  doing  the  same  thing.  But  it  was  some- 
thing else  that  day.  The  men  who  signed  the  Declaration 
knew  not  but  they  were  signing  warrants  for  their  own 


FOURTH  OF  JULY.  205 

ignominious  execution  on  the  gibbet.  It  was  the  despera- 
tion of  the  punster's  wit  that  led  one  of  them  to  say,  that 
unless  they  hung  together,  they  would  all  hang  separately. 
The  bloody  victims  of  the  Jacobite  rebellions  of  1715  and 
1745  were  still  a  warning  to  rebels ;  and  the  gory  holo- 
caust of  Culloden  was  fresh  in  the  memory.  But  it  was 
not  only  the  personal  risk ;  it  was  risking  the  homes,  the 
commerce,  the  lives,  the  property,  the  honor,  the  future 
destiny  of  three  million  innocent  people,  —  men,  women, 
and  children.  It  was  defying,  on  behalf  of  a  straggling 
chain  of  colonies  clinging  to  the  seaboard,  the  most  impe- 
rial power  of  the  world.  It  was,  more  than  all,  like  Co- 
lumbus sailing  into  awful  uncertainty  of  untried  space ; 
casting  off  from  an  established  and  familiar  form  of  gov- 
ernment and  politics ;  drifting  away  to  unknown  methods, 
and  upon  the  dangerous  and  yawning  chaos  of  democratic 
institutions ;  flying  from  ills  they  had  to  those  they  knew 
not  of ;  and,  perhaps,  laying  the  way  for  a  miserable  and 
bloody  catastrophe  in  anarchy  and  riot.  There  are  times 
when  ordinary  men  are  borne  by  the  tide  of  an  occasion 
to  crests  of  grandeur  in  conduct  and  action.  Such  a  time, 
such  an  occasion,  was  that  which  to-day  we  celebrate. 
While  the  signers  of  the  Declaration  were  picked  men, 
none  the  less  true  is  it  that  their  extraordinary  fame  is 
due  not  more  to  their  merits  than  to  the  crisis  at  which 
they  were  at  the  helm,  and  to  the  great  popular  instinct 
which  they  obeyed  and  expressed. 

And  so  we  ask,  why  do  we  commemorate  with  such  ven- 
eration and  display  this  special  epoch  and  event  in  our 
history ;  why  do  we  repeat  the  words  our  fathers  spoke  or 
wrote ;  why  cherish  their  names,  when  our  civilization  is 
better  than  theirs,  and  when  we  have  reached  in  science, 
art,  education,  religion,  in  politics,  in  every  phase  of  hu- 


206  FOUKTH  OF  JULY. 

man  development,  even  in  morals,  a  higher  level  ?  It  is 
because  we  recognize  that  in  their  beginnings  the  eternal 
elements  of  truth  and  right  and  justice  were  conspicuous ; 
and  to  those  eternal  verities  we  pay  our  tribute,  and  not 
to  their  surroundings,  except  so  far  as  we  poetically  let 
the  form  stand  for  the  spirit,  the  man  for  the  idea,  the 
event  for  the  purpose.  And  it  is  also  because  we  can  do 
no  better  work  than  to  perpetuate  virtue  in  the  citizen  by 
keeping  always  fresh  in  the  popular  mind,  whether  we  do 
it  by  the  art  of  the  painter,  by  oration,  or  by  bonfire,  the 
great  heroic  deeds  and  times  of  our  history.  In  this  light 
it  is  almost  impossible  to  overrate  the  influence  on  na- 
tional destiny  of  a  legend  or  a  name.  Look  back  to  your 
own  childhood  and  tell  me  when  you  first  grew  mature 
enough  to  distinguish  patriotism  from  the  story  of  Gen- 
eral Warren  and  Bunker  Hill.  Who  shall  say  that  the 
tradition  of  Marathon  and  Thermopylae  did  not  give  us 
Concord  and  Yorktown,  as  it  also  gave  independence  to 
modern  Greece,  and  glorified  the  career  and  death  of  By- 
ron, and  made  our  own  Howe  crusader  and  philanthro- 
pist ?  Who  shall  determine  how  far  the  maintenance  of 
the  integrity  of  our  Union  wiU  depend  on  the  memory 
of  Webster,  and  find  help  in  the  picture  in  Faneuil  Hall  of 
his  great  debate  with  Hayne,  as  well  as  in  his  unanswera- 
ble logic  ?  And  who  shall  say  to  how  great  an  extent  the 
love  of  country  for  the  next  century  shall  rise  from  the 
fidelity  with  which  we  keep  alive  in  the  public  heart 
the  memorabilia  of  our  Revolution  and  of  our  recent  war  ? 
Wise,  indeed,  as  well  as  loyal  and  beautiful,  is  it  that  to- 
day all  America  joins  in  this  observance;  that  at  this  hour 
a  thousand  orators  are  speaking  words  of  high  emprise ; 
that  poets  kindle  the  fire  of  patriotism,  and  that  the  he- 
roes of  1776  stand  up  from  the  past,  grander  and  diviner 


FOURTH  OF  JULY.  207 

for  the  illusion  of  distance,  and  point  the  way  to  the  high- 
est ideals  of  national  attainment.  The  valuable  thing  in 
the  past  is  not  the  man  or  the  event,  which  are  both  al- 
ways ordinary,  and  which,  under  the  enchantment  of  dis- 
tance and  the  pride  of  descent,  we  love  to  surround  with 
exaggerated  glory ;  it  is  rather  in  the  sentiment  for  which 
the  man  and  the  event  stand.  The  ideal  is  alone  substan- 
tial and  alone  survives. 

Let  us  avoid  undue  praise  of  the  fathers,  because  the 
bare  truth  is  tribute  enough,  and  because  it  is  so  easy  to 
exaggerate  the  past.  Such  undue  exaltation  of  the  good 
of  other  times  has  its  demoralizing  side.  There  is  no  ser- 
vice or  manliness  in  belittling  our  own  times  and  men. 
We  can  appreciate  the  past  as  well  if  we  appreciate  our- 
selves at  our  own  true  value.  It  is  the  fashion  of  the  hour 
" —  and  not  a  new  fashion,  especially  when  partisanship  is 
bitter  and  searching  —  to  scatter  the  poison  of  aspersion 
on  all  surrounding  character,  service,  and  system.  And 
yet,  to  my  mind,  there  is  occasion  for  thorough  satisfac- 
tion with  the  result  of  the  first  century  of  the  republic. 
It  began  as  an  experiment,  doubtful  and  uncertain;  it 
began  with  nothing  more  than  a  feeble  union  of  sentiment, 
engendered  by  the  enthusiasm  of  common  military  service 
and  a  common  exposure  ;  it  began  amid  a  diversity  of  in- 
terests and  of  races,  of  religious  and  ethnic  characteris- 
tics ;  it  began  not  only  without  money,  but  with  a  crush- 
ing burden  of  debt  which  it  seemed  to  have  no  resources 
or  means  of  paying ;  it  began  with  no  hold  on  the  cooper- 
ation of  foreign  powers,  except  the  chivalrous  sympathy 
that  ended  ahnost  with  the  stirring  events  of  the  war  that 
aroused  it ;  it  began  in  a  state  of  public  demoralization 
caused  by  seven  years  of  campaigning,  and  with  a  currency 
debased  and  worthless,  and  furnishing  stiU  a  terrible  warn- 


208  FOURTH  OF  JULY. 

ing  against  the  rot  which  such  inflation  and  depreciation 
cause  in  the  character,  tone,  and  truth  of  a  people;  it 
began  with  a  discontented  and  disturbed  soldiery,  unpaid, 
destitute,  and  neglected,  and  smarting  under  the  ingrati- 
tude of  their  country.  Its  early  years  were  marked  by 
riots  and  rebellions.  It  is  claimed  that  nothing  but  the 
firm  and  enduring  weight  of  the  character  of  Washington 
held  it  together.  Its  constitution  was  framed  and  adopted 
only  with  reluctance  and  doubt.  The  morals  of  the  peo- 
ple were  not  of  a  high  order.  The  morals  of  public  men 
were  low.  Aaron  Burr  was  of  a  character  so  notoriously 
infamous,  that  to-day  it  is  incredible  how  he  could  have 
been  chosen  Vice-President  and  brought  within  two  or 
three  votes  of  the  Presidency  itself.  Hamilton  was  not 
free  from  reproach.  Religion,  when  not  asleep,  was  coarse 
and  illiterate.  Congress  was  the  scene  of  debates  bitter 
and  personal  to  a  shameful  degree.  The  Cabinet  was  di- 
vided against  itself.  The  mutual  hate  of  Jefferson  and 
Hamilton  it  would  be  hard  to  parallel.  Vituperation, 
abuse,  and  slander  poisoned  many  an  honest  name ;  and 
though  now,  the  mist  of  prejudice  having  lifted,  we  look 
back  and  see  only  what  was  solid  and  valuable  growth, 
yet  in  that  day  it  was  said,  as  we  hear  it  said  nowadays, 
that  corruption  was  undermining  the  foundations,  and  that 
democracy  was  a  demonstrated  failure. 

Read  the  journal  of  John  Quincy  Adams,  and  note  what 
half  a  century  ago  was  his  estimate  of  the  selfishness, 
meanness,  vulgarity,  and  hopelessness  of  the  public  ser- 
vice ;  how  speedily  he  looked  for  the  disruption  of  a  brit- 
tle republic,  and  with  what  contempt  he  refers  to  Webster 
and  Clay,  and  the  names  we  have  been  taught  to  rever- 
ence. We  must  not  be  blinded  by  the  miasma  of  present 
abuse  which  is  always  afloat.    We  must  take  deeper  views 


FOURTH  OF  JULY.  209 

and  a  wider  range.  Look  not  at  any  year,  but  on  the 
whole  century,  and  see  what  has  been  the  advance,  what 
the  progress  in  arts,  in  science,  in  human  life  and  culture, 
in  all  that  broadens  the  intellect  and  enlarges  the  soid,  in 
all  that  humanizes  and  educates  a  people!  The  feeble 
colonies  are  an  empire  so  magnificent  in  territory  and 
population  that  the  imagination  cannot  take  it  in.  The 
imperfect  league  of  1776  is  the  majestic  consolidated  na- 
tion of  thirty-eight  States,  each  one  an  empire,  and  the 
whole  the  most  magnificent  and  forward  cluster  of  civil 
polity  the  world  ever  saw,  —  a  very  well-spring  of  human 
enlightenment  and  outgrowth  in  every  upward  direction. 
The  national  government,  which  was  almost  overthrown, 
even  under  the  guard  of  Washington,  by  a  whiskey  riot 
in  a  ravine  of  the  Alleghanies,  has  withstood  the  shock  of 
a  civil  war  which  rocked  a  continent  to  its  foundations,  tri- 
umphing not  so  much  by  force  of  arms  as  by  the  popular 
sense  of  right,  and  rising  from  the  convidsion  stronger 
than  ever,  by  reason  of  the  eradication  of  the  one  false 
and  diseased  element  which  impaired  it  and  which  was, 
from  the  first,  an  element  of  weakness  as  it  was  of  wrong. 
Think  of  what  has  been  done  in  the  matter  of  education, 
of  public  schools,  of  universities  of  learning  for  both  sexes 
and  all  races.  In  science  we  have  unlocked  the  secrets  of 
the  earth  and  the  air  and  the  sea,  and  made  them  not 
merely  matters  of  wonder,  but  handmaidens  of  homely  use. 
Religion  has  been  refined  and  elevated,  and  the  human 
mind,  searching  for  divine  truth,  has  risen  above  super- 
stition and  cant,  and,  with  knowledge  for  its  guide,  has 
reconciled  faith  with  an  enlightened  reason.  In  all  mat- 
ters of  comfort,  of  use,  of  elegance,  of  convenient  living, 
of  house,  and  table,  and  furniture,  and  light,  and  warmth, 
and  health,  and  travel,  what  thorough  and  beneficent  ad- 


210  FOURTH  OF  JULY. 

vance  equally  for  all,  shaming  the  petty  meanness  with 
which,  unjust  alike  to  the  old  times  and  the  new,  we  in- 
veigh against  the  new  times  and  overrate  the  old !  At 
home  it  is  with  a  feeling  of  satisfaction  and  pride  that  we 
turn  to  our  own  Commonwealth  in  every  department  of 
her  public  life ;  in  her  spotless  judiciary,  which  has  never 
fallen  below  its  best  standard,  and  whose  ermine  bears  no 
stain ;  or  her  legislature,  which  has  always  expressed  the 
popular  will,  and  embodied  in  its  enactments  the  reach  of 
the  popular  sentiment.  Shall  I  prefer  the  old  times,  when 
I  see  government  made  to-day  the  use,  the  culture,  the 
salvation  of  the  people ;  saving  those  who  are  in  peril  from 
want  and  fire  and  famine ;  looking  after  the  little  chil- 
dren ;  caring  for  the  insane,  the  idiotic,  the  criminal,  the 
drunkard,  the  unfortunate,  the  orphans,  and  the  aged ; 
guarding  the  interests  of  the  laborer;  bringing  to  the 
help  of  the  agriculturist  the  best  results  of  science,  and 
building  colleges  for  the  promotion  of  the  noble  calling  of 
the  culture  of  the  soil ;  guarding  the  savings  of  the  small 
earners ;  investigating  the  causes  of  disease,  and  securing 
its  prevention ;  giving  to  all  the  people  comforts  that  were 
once  not  even  the  luxurious  dreams  of  princes ;  pouring 
out  education  like  streams  of  living  water ;  maintaining 
great  and  generous  charities,  and  extending  the  shield  of 
its  foresight  and  encouragement  over  all  alike?  Grant 
that  since  the  rebellion  of  1861,  as  years  ago  after  the 
revolution  of  1776,  a  period  of  war  was  followed  by  an 
extraordinary  period  of  demoralization,  resulting  from  the 
excessive  and  abnormal  disturbance  of  the  ordinary  chan- 
nels of  labor  and  industry,  and  especially  from  that  infla- 
tion of  our  currency  which  gave  rise  to  incredible  increase 
of  expenditure  and  debt,  and  from  which  recovery  came 
only  with  a  shock.     Grant  that  corruption  sometimes  ex- 


FOURTH  OF  JULY.  211 

ists  in  high  places  and  in  low ;  grant  that  politics  are  too 
often  turned  into  barter.  Whatever  the  evil,  it  cannot 
stand  against  the  discernment  which  is  so  swift  to  uncover 
and  shame  it,  and  which  will  permit  it  no  concealment. 
And  there  is  good  token  in  the  very  sensitiveness  of  the 
public  mind,  which  was  never  keener  or  quicker  to  dis- 
cover and  punish  fraud  and  faithlessness  than  now.  It 
must  not  be  forgotten  that  the  republic  not  only  was  an 
experiment  in  its  inception,  but  is  so  still.  We  are  apt  to 
judge  by  the  severe  rules  of  criticism  which  we  apply  to 
completed  work.  We  forget  that  only  a  few  short  years 
ago  it  was  said  that  a  popular  government  cannot  succeed ; 
that  the  popular  mind  is  not  sufficiently  educated  to  be 
relied  on ;  that  a  pure  democracy  has  in  it  no  stability  or 
permanence,  but  must  go  down  with  the  first  tumult  of 
popular  frenzy;  that  patriotism  will  decay  without  the 
veneration  that  attaches  to  monarchy ;  and  that  in  a  gov- 
ernment of  .the  people,  ignorance,  fraud,  brutality,  and 
crime  will  rise,  by  might  of  fist  and  lung,  to  the  suprem- 
acy. The  wonder  is,  not  that  the  republic  is  not  perfect 
to-day  in  its  machinery,  its  character,  its  results,  but  that, 
with  its  monstrous  expansion  from  within  and  immigra- 
tion from  abroad,  it  has  fared  so  well,  and  that  its  achieve- 
ments are  better  than  its  founders  dared  predict  or  hope. 
Tell  me  what  government,  ancient  or  modern,  has  been 
more  stable,  or  freer  from  convulsion.  Who  are  our 
politicians,  if  not  our  presidents  of  colleges,  our  brightest 
poets,  our  most  vigorous  divines,  our  conspicuous  mer- 
chants, our  foremost  lawyers,  our  leading  men  everywhere? 
Our  politics,  at  which  we  rail  so  much,  are  what  we  are. 
Will  you  say  that  there  are  startling  evidences  of  neglect, 
when  no  pulpit  is  without  its  fervid  appeal  for  loftier  pa- 
triotism ;  when  no  class  graduates  from  college  that  half 


212  FOURTH  OF  JULY. 

its  orations  are  not  on  the  duty  of  the  citizen  to  the  state ; 
when  our  centennials  fairly  weary  us  with  the  demand, 
made  by  all  who  speak  by  voice  or  pen,  for  national  purity 
and  virtue ;  and  when  no  political  party  dares  the  popular 
verdict  that  does  not  proclaim  and  exhibit  its  purpose  of 
reform  in  every  branch  of  the  public  service  ?  Let  the 
test  of  our  hope  or  despair  be  not  so  much  the  severe 
standard  of  the  very  highest  reach  of  the  demands  of  to- 
day, but  rather  the  modest  trust  with  which  a  hundred 
years  ago  our  fathers  risked  a  democracy.  Is  it  nothing 
that  their  perilous  confidence  in  human  nature,  and  in  the 
ability  and  inclination  of  the  masses  to  govern  themselves 
aright,  has  been  justified  and  not  abused?  Is  it  nothing 
that,  ruled  by  a  mob,  our  leaders  selected  from  and  by  a 
mob,  our  laws  the  popular  sentiment  of  a  mob,  yet  such  is 
the  preponderance  of  the  good  elements  over  the  bad,  of 
the  upward  tendency  over  the  downward,  of  order  over 
disorder,  of  progress  over  stagnation,  that  the  experiment 
has  resulted  in  a  century  of  success ;  that,  however  imper- 
fect the  scheme  in  some  of  its  outward  manifestations,  it 
is  correct  in  principle ;  and  that  it  has  demonstrated  the 
practicability  and  wisdom  of  a  government  of  the  people, 
by  the  people,  for  the  people  ?  If  there  were  none  in  the 
ranks  except  the  men  who  have  proved  unworthy,  we 
might  despair ;  but  not  when  we  remember  that  in  every 
section  of  the  country  we  still  number  great  hosts  of  hon- 
est and  able  men  fit  for  every  political  need  or  duty.  If 
a  period  of  national  demoralization  were  followed  by  con- 
tinued indifference  and  acquiescence,  we  might  despair ; 
but  not  when  we  see  it  followed  by  the  indignant  uprising 
of  the  better  elements,  the  wholesome  criticism  of  the 
press,  the  outcry  of  the  poet  and  the  philosopher,  the 
sturdy  and  resolute  reaction  of  that  fundamental  inteUi- 


FOURTH  OF  JULY.  213 

gence  and  honesty  of  the  people,  which  are  the  fruit  of 
our  system  of  free  education,  and  which  can  always  be  re- 
lied on  in  the  last  resort  to  do  the  work  of  reform  when 
the  crisis  comes.  For  one  I  feel  no  anxiety.  I  regard  it 
as  a  sign  of  the  permanence  of  our  institutions,  that  to- 
day, when  so  many  mourn  over  the  sadder  revelations  of 
the  time,  a  wiser  philosophy  looks  through  the  ferment 
that  is  sloughing  the  scum  from  the  surface  and  purifying 
the  body  politic  from  top  to  bottom.  To  be  conscious  of 
the  malady,  in  a  republic  of  free  schools  and  a  free  press, 
is  to  cure  it. 

It  is  easy  to  raise  spectres  of  danger,  and  forecast  per- 
ils that  threaten  to  destroy  the  republic.  But  it  will  meet 
and  beat  them.  It  is  flying  in  the  face  of  nature  and  of 
experience  to  fear  that  man,  with  increasing  expansion 
of  his  opportunities  and  powers,  has,  like  a  child,  no  hori- 
zon of  promise  beyond  his  present  vision.  Why  should 
we  at  the  approach  of  the  next  century,  with  its  mag- 
nificent impulse  onward,  shudder  with  the  same  ignorant 
and  ungodly  distrust  with  which  the  old  time  trembled 
at  the  coming  of  our  own  ?  We  have  brought  no  dangers 
that  we  have  not  averted,  no  perils  that  have  overwhelmed 
us.  Why  whisper  under  the  breath  that  in  the  near  years 
to  come  men  are  to  withdraw  more  and  more  from  the 
grinding  of  unremitted  and  unlightened  physical  toil? 
Do  not  you  and  I  enjoy  whatever  exemption  from  it  there 
comes  to  us  ;  and  shall  not  the  humblest  enjoy  as  much  ? 
Will  it  be  an  evil  when  science,  with  its  inventions  and 
its  use  of  the  illimitable  agencies  of  nature,  the  develop- 
ment of  which  is  now  but  in  its  infancy,  performs  still 
more  the  drudgery  of  toil  and  lets  the  souls  of  all  go 
freer  ?  Labor  and  industry,  in  the  nature  of  things,  will 
never  cease ;  but  the  progress  of  the  ages  will  direct  them 


214  FOURTH  OF  JULY. 

to  higher  levels  of  employment,  never  dispensing  with 
their  need,  but  rather  adding  to  their  dignity  and  to  the 
happiness  they  return.  Why,  too,  this  terror  lest  those, 
who  have  not  had  the  sweetness  and  refinements  and  ele- 
vation of  leisure,  shall  have  them  more  and  more,  as  well 
as  those  to  whom  it  certainly  has  brought,  not  harm,  but 
culture  ?  Has  the  result  hitherto  been  so  disastrous  as  to 
make  us  fear  either  the  bettered  conditions  of  the  masses, 
or  their  ambition  for  better  conditions  still?  Faith  in 
the  common  people  is  not  a  fine  phrase  or  a  dream ;  it  is 
the  teaching  of  experience  and  test.  They,  too,  may  be 
confided  in  to  measure  and  accept  the  necessities  and  in- 
equalities that  attach  to  human  living  ;  and  they  are  not 
going  to  destroy  any  social  economy  which  blesses  them 
all,  because  it  does  not  bless  them  all  alike.  Are  not 
fidelity,  patience,  loyal  service,  and  good  citizenship,  true 
of  the  kitchen,  the  loom,  and  the  bench?  Is  there  no 
professor's  chair,  no  clergyman's  desk,  no  merchant 
prince's  counting-room,  dishonored?  Does,  indeed,  the 
line  of  simple  w;orth  or  social  or  political  stability  run  on 
the  border  of  any  class  or  station  ?  The  people  may  be 
trusted  with  their  own  interests.  If  it  shall  appear  that 
any  one  form  of  government  or  society  fails,  there  will 
always  be  intelligence  and  wit  enough  to  fashion  a  better. 
Forces  will  come  at  command.  The  instinct  of  self-pre- 
servation counts  for  something,  as  weU  as  the  elements 
of  goodness  and  progress  which  are  inherent  in  human 
nature.  And  when  aU  these  unite,  while  there  will  in- 
deed be  change  and  revolution,  there  will  never  be  wreck 
and  chaos.  There  will  be  fools  and  fanatics  and  assas- 
sins and  demagogues  and  nihilists,  and  all  sorts  of  in- 
sane or  vicious  dissolvers  of  security ;  there  will  be  con- 
vulsions and  horrors :    every  fair  summer  the  lightning 


FOURTH  OF  JULY.  215 

flashes  and  strikes.  But  all  these  are  the  tempests  of  the 
year  against  the  unfailing  sunshine  and  rain  which  make 
the  blooming  and  fragrant  garden  of  the  earth.  There 
must,  indeed,  be  eternal  vigilance  and  increasing  zeal  and 
endeavor  for  the  right.  But  can  there  be  nobler  or  finer 
service  than  to  contribute  these  ?  Or,  if  you,  sleek  and 
well-to-do  and  jealous  of  your  fortunate  share  of  good 
things,  fear  lest  frenzy  and  drunkenness  and  vice  invade 
your  domain,  will  you  not  stop  sneering  at  the  reformers, 
who,  in  whatever  line  or  of  whatever  sex  or  social  scale, 
are  trying  to  breast  the  torrent,  and  give  them  your  coun- 
tenance, your  help,  and  your  right  arm  ?  Shall  our  fore- 
cast of  imminent  or  coming  perils  unnerve  us  and  awake 
only  a  whine  of  despair ;  or  shall  it  rather  put  us  to  our 
mettle,  and  to  the  development  of  the  better  influences 
which  always  have  averted  and  always  will  avert  dis- 
aster ? 

Grant  the  great  accumulations  of  individual  and  cor- 
porate wealth,  with  its  larger  luxuries ;  grant  this,  and, 
if  there  be  danger  in  it,  —  as  there  is,  —  be  on  your 
guard.  But  is  it  all  evil  ?  Have  the  multitude  been  cor- 
respondingly straitened  and  deprived  ?  Are  the  homes, 
the  food,  the  clothing,  the  literary  and  aesthetic  tastes, 
and  the  amusements  of  the  toilers,  more  limited,  or  do 
they  share  in  the  general  betterment?  Is  the  public 
library  closed  to  them  ?  Is  there  no  newspaper  —  a 
library  in  itself  —  in  their  hands  each  day  ?  Have  they 
less  or  dimmer  light  to  read  by  than  before  ;  or  scantier 
means  of  conveyance  from  the  city  to  the  fields  and 
beach ;  or  more  meagre  communication  with  the  great 
orbit  of  the  living  world,  its  interests,  its  activities,  its 
resources?  May  we  not  yet  find  even  in  this  bugbear 
of  excessive  wealth,  with  its  perilous  luxury  emasculating 


216  FOURTH  OF  JULY. 

those  who  enjoy  it  and  tempting  those  who  ape  it,  the 
seeds  of  the  evil's  own  cure  ?  If  it  be  not  so,  it  is  the 
first  instance  of  a  corruption  which  has  not  wrought  its 
own  better  life.  Need  we,  indeed  even  now,  look  far  off 
for  a  day  when  the  vulgar  gluttony  of  wealth  will  be  the 
disdain  of  good  manners  and  high  character,  not  worth  its 
own  heavy  weight,  and  no  longer  the  aim  of  a  better  and 
finer  time?  Is  happiness,  or  was  it  ever,  correspondent 
with  wealth  or  luxury  ?  Are  not  most  men  superior  to 
either,  or  to  the  fever  for  them?  I  do  not  think  it  too 
much  to  say,  that  in  the  time  to  come,  "  Give  me  neither 
poverty  nor  riches "  will  be  not  only  the  wise  man's 
prayer,  but  the  "smart"  man's  maxim  and  the  aristo- 
crat's choice.  What  refreshment,  even  to-day,  to  turn  to 
examples  of  wealth,  —  of  which  so  many  are  illustrious  in 
your  own  city,  —  which  finds  its  most  gracious  use  and  its 
most  indulgent  luxury  in  cooling  streams  of  charity  and 
beneficence  flowing  broadcast  amid  the  parched  lowlands 
of  want  and  ignorance  and  wrong !  Under  our  system 
the  easy  mobility  of  wealth  is  its  own  no  small  safeguard 
and  regulator.  Not  only  do  fortunes  come  and  go ;  not 
only  from  all  rounds  of  the  social  ladder  do  the  million- 
aires spring ;  but,  even  while  retained  in  the  same  hand, 
wealth  does  not  lie  inactive  and  embayed,  but  is  coursing 
everywhere,  a  trust  rather  than  an  exclusive  possession 
to  its  owner,  employing,  supporting,  enriching,  a  thousand 
other  men.  To  assail  it  is  to  attack  not  him,  but  them. 
It  is  engaged  in  their  service  more  than  in  his.  It  has 
no  existence  except  in  this  very  subservience  to  the  gen- 
eral use.  Destroy  this  function,  and  it  is  but  a  corpse, 
worth  no  man's  having.  Fortunate  is  the  community, 
and  men  do  not  decay,  where,  under  our  institutions, 
wealth   accumulates.     It  cannot   fill  one   hand   without 


FOURTH  OF  JULY.  217 

overflowing  into  every  other.  It  cannot  live  to  itself 
alone. 

Danger  and  peril  enough  indeed  ;  need  everywhere  for 
safeguards  and  forethought  I  But  the  world  is  a  failure 
and  man  is  a  lie  if  there  be  not  in  him  the  capacity  to 
rise  to  his  own  might,  and  to  keep  pace  with  his  own 
growth.  Are  education,  science,  is  this  godlike  mind, 
are  the  soul  and  the  moral  nature,  to  count  for  nothing 
but  their  own  disaster  ?  Is  there  no  future  manhood  to 
meet  the  future  crisis  ?  Is  there  no  God  ?  As  the  dead 
past  buries  its  dead,  so  the  unborn  future  will  solve  its  own 
needs.     Ours  it  is  to  do  the  duty  of  the  present  hour. 

And  to  that  high  duty  with  what  a  trumpet-caU  are  we 
summoned  !  I  would  at  once  avoid  indiscriminate  praise 
or  blame  of  the  things  of  to-day.  I  would  not  so  assail 
our  national  and  social  and  political  character  and  men 
and  institutions  as  to  destroy  our  seK-respect ;  nor,  on 
the  other  hand,  would  I  shut  my  eyes  to  the  glaring  de- 
fects that  exist,  and  that  are  a  reproach  to  any  people. 
There  is  rust  upon  our  escutcheon.  Our  civil  service 
cries  aloud  for  the  reform  which  has  begun  to  come,  and 
which  is  already  shaping  the  action  of  politicians  and 
departments  that  are  unconsciously  obeying  the  public 
sentiment  it  has  created.  There  is  sometimes  lack  of 
homely  honesty  in  our  touch  upon  the  public  money; 
there  is  dishonor  in  high  places ;  there  are  frauds  in 
finance.  But  these  are  evils  not  permanent  in  the  heart 
of  a  progressive  people.  They  are  only  incidental  to  in- 
complete systems.  They  suggest  what  would  be  a  nobler 
and  more  vital  theme  for  us  at  this  time  than  even  the 
Declaration  of  Independence  of  1776  ;  and  that  is  a  new 
and  present  declaration  of  independence,  which,  if  pro- 
claimed to  the  world  in  honesty  and  sincerity,  would 


218  FOURTH  OF  JULY. 

make  some  John  Adams  of  to-day  prophesy  that  it  would 
be  henceforward  celebrated  by  succeeding  generations 
from  one  end  of  the  continent  to  the  other. 

The  century  just  past  was  a  century  of  military  and 
political  growth ;  the  century  opening  this  hour  will  be 
one  of  moral  and  scientific  growth.  The  parties  of  the 
future  can  only  succeed  if  they  embody  some  great  moral 
element  and  purpose.  Let  us  have  here  and  now  a  new 
declaration  of  independence,  —  independence  from  igno- 
rance and  prejudice  and  narrowness  and  false  restraint ; 
from  the  ruthless  machinery  of  war,  so  that  we  may  have 
the  beneficent  influences  of  peace  ;  from  the  clumsiness 
of  any  lingering  barbarism,  so  that  we  may  have  the  full 
development  of  a  Christian  civilization ;  from  the  crimes 
that  infest  and  retard  society ;  from  intemperance  and 
drunkenness  and  false  gods;  from  low  views  of  public 
trust.  No  declaration  of  the  fathers  would  compare  for 
a  moment  with  a  declaration  of  the  high  moral  purposes 
that  beckon  us  on  to  a  loftier  national  life.  The  field 
is  unlimited ;  the  opportunity  for  growth  inexhaustible. 
Only  let  us  realize  the  absolute  duty  of  impressing  on 
the  leading  classes,  as  we  call  them,  on  the  educated  and 
religious  classes,  at  least,  the  necessity  of  their  projecting 
themselves  out  of  the  ranks  which  need  no  physician  into 
the  ranks  which  do.  I  do  not  mean  the  nonsense  of  class 
distinctions ;  I  mean  that  whoever  is  a  foremost  man  in 
any  sphere,  in  the  professions,  in  trade  or  elsewhere,  who- 
ever leads  in  politics,  in  church,  in  society,  in  the  shop, 
must  feel  that  on  his  shoulders  alone  rests  the  public 
safety. 

There  must  be  the  sense  of  personal  obligation  on  every 
man  whose  natural  power  or  happy  opportunities  have 
given  him  a  lift  in  any  wise  above  the  rest.     Virtue,  pub- 


FOURTH  OF  JULY.  219 

lie  and  private,  will  become  easy  and  popular  when  it  is 
the  badge  and  inspiration  of  the  leaders ;  and  good  in- 
fluences from  the  top  will  permeate  through  the  whole 
body  politic  as  rain  filters  through  the  earth  and  freshens 
it  with  verdure  and  beauty  and  fertility.  I  would  em- 
phasize, more  than  anything  else,  the  duty  of  the  enlight- 
ened classes  to  throw  all  their  energies  into  the  popu- 
lar arena.  Why  should  the  ingenuous  youth,  fresh  from 
college,  dream  of  Pericles  swaying  with  consummate  ad- 
dress and  eloquence  the  petty  democracy  of  Athens,  and 
himself  shun  the  town  house  where,  in  a  golden  age  be- 
side which  the  age  of  Pericles  is  brass,  is  moulded  the 
destiny  of  his  own  magnificent  republic  ?  Why  kindle 
with  the  invective  of  Cicero,  or  the  wit  of  Aristophanes, 
and  himself  be  too  dainty  to  lift  voice  or  finger  to  banish 
Catiline  and  Cleon  from  manipulating  the  honor,  the 
integrity,  the  achievement,  of  the  fatherland,  bequeathed 
to  him  in  sacred  trust  by  his  own  heroic  ancestors? 
Little  sympathy  is  to  be  felt  with  the  spirit  that  stands 
aloof  and  rails  at  the  clumsy  work  of  a  government  by 
the  people,  who,  on  their  part,  invariably  welcome  the 
approach  of  the  man  of  culture,  and  will  give  him  place 
if  only  he  will  not  convey  the  idea  that  he  despises  it. 
It  is  useless  to  deny  that  the  scholars  have  failed  often- 
times —  less  of  late  —  to  improve  their  opportunity  ;  and 
if  ever  the  republic  goes  to  the  bad,  it  will  be,  not  be- 
cause the  illiterate  and  lax  have  seized  and  depraved  it, 
but  because  the  instructed  and  trained  have  neglected  it. 

To  me  it  seems  axiomatic  that  the  educated  and  virtu- 
ous, in  a  free  state,  can  control  it  if  they  will.     Here  we 
are  at  the  threshold  of  these  great  economic  questions  of 
labor,   of  capital,   of   currency.     They   affect    the   very 
^^  tables  and  hearthstones  and  muscles  of  us  all.     We  have 


220  FOURTH  OF  JULY. 

yet  to  solve  the  problem  of  so  distributing  the  excess  of 
the  grain  of  the  world  that  no  man  shall  be  unable  to 
fairly  exchange  his  product  for  it ;  of  so  distributing  the 
excess  of  wealth  that  no  man  shall  be  destitute  who  is 
willing  to  work.  There  will  be  fewer  frauds  upon  the 
revenue  as  commerce  is  gradually  relieved  from  its  re- 
straints. Defalcations  will  be  rare  when  the  proper  chan- 
nels for  capital  are  alone  open  and  the  eddies  and  cata- 
racts of  baseless  speculation  are  avoided.  There  will  be 
no  terrorism  of  strikes  when  labor  is  directed  aright  and 
its  wao^es  are  its  honest  measure.  There  will  be  no 
bubbles  to  burst,  no  corners  for  the  gamblers  to  work  up, 
when  the  laws  that  regulate  the  carrying  of  the  product 
to  the  consumer  are  learned,  and  the  supply  becomes  a 
steady  stream,  flowing  into  and  satisfying  the  demand. 
All  these  are  the  questions  of  the  economy  of  the  future. 
There  lies  before  us  a  field  which  should  make  the  heart 
of  a  true  man  glad  as  he  sees  approaching  a  century  of 
peace,  of  wise  economies,  of  amelioration  for  the  masses, 
of  opportunity  for  lifting  all  men  to  a  happy  and  useful 
activity.  So  shall  those  who  follow  reap  a  grander  har- 
vest than  ours.  It  is  God's  earth,  and  He  made  it  for 
His  children.  How  the  arts  will  educate  and  train 
them ;  how  science  will  enlighten  them  ;  how  great  moral 
strides  will  take  them  to  loftier  planes  of  conduct  and 
life  !  There  can  be  no  failure  of  the  republic  among  an 
intelligent  people,  wdth  schools  for  the  young,  with  good 
examples  in  the  past,  with  Christian  ideals  for  the  future. 
It  has  already  surmounted  its  most  stupendous  risks  and 
assaults.  It  has  ridden  them  all  safely  over.  The  late 
civil  war  will  only  cement  the  structure.  I  am  told  that 
on  the  battlefields  of  Virginia,  so  swift  is  time's  eras- 
ure, where,  now  seventeen  years  ago,  the  land  was  rough 


FOURTH  OF  JULY.  221 

with  the  intrenchments  of  the  camp,  already  new  woody 
growths  have  covered  them  over,  and  the  foliage  and  the 
turf  and  the  fruitful  farms  bear  no  mark  of  war,  but 
wave  with  lines  of  beauty  and  of  harvest.  So  be  it,  too, 
in  the  nation  at  large  !  The  contest  is  over ;  the  wrong 
is  righted ;  the  curse  is  ojff ;  the  land  is  redeemed ;  the 
sweet  angels  of  peace  and  reconciliation  are  flitting  from 
door  to  door,  sitting  at  the  tents,  inspiring  kinder 
thoughts  and  sympathies,  and  awakening  at  this  very 
hour  the  ancient  memories  of  a  common  sacrifice  and  a 
common  glory.  The  great  prolific  fields  of  the  South,  its 
rivers  and  natural  resources,  saved  from  the  blight  of 
slavery,  will  be  the  loom  and  granary  and  wealth  of  us 
all.  The  softening  influences  of  a  common  interest  will 
draw  together  the  people  of  all  sections.  Commerce  and 
trade  and  learning,  and  all  the  affiliations  that  interweave 
the  affections  of  a  people,  will  surround  and  sustain  the 
central  pillar  of  a  common  country  and  destiny. 

I  am  now  the  hundreth  in  that  succession  with  whom 
Boston  has  charged  her  Fourth  of  July  orations.  Our 
beloved  country  is  more  than  a  hundred  years  old.  A 
century  has  come  and  has  gone.  It  is  indeed  but  as  a 
day ;  yet  what  a  day !  Not  the  short  and  sullen  day  of 
the  winter  solstice,  but  the  long,  glorious,  and  prolific 
summer  day  of  June.  It  rose  in  the  twilight  glimmerings 
of  the  dawn  of  Lexington,  and  its  rays,  falling  on  the 
mingled  dew  and  gore  of  that  greensward,  and  a  little 
later  across  the  rebel  gun-barrels  of  Bunker  Hill,  and  then 
tenderly  lingering  on  the  dead,  upturned  face  of  Warren, 
broke  in  the  fuU  splendor  of  the  first  Fourth  of  July,  and 
lay  warm  upon  the  bell  in  the  tower  of  Independence 
Hall,  as  it  rang  out  upon  the  air  the  cry  of  a  free  nation 
newly  born.     Its  morning  sun,  now  radiant  and  now  ob- 


222  FOURTH  OF  JULY. 

scured,  shone  over  the  battlefields  of  the  Revolution,  over 
the  ice  of  the  Delaware,  and  over  the  ramparts  at  York- 
town  swept  by  the  onslaught  of  the  chivalrous  Lafayette. 
It  looked  down  upon  the  calm  figure  of  Washington  in- 
augurating the  new  government  under  the  Constitution. 
It  saw  the  slow  but  steady  consolidation  of  the  Union. 
It  saw  the  marvelous  stride  with  which,  in  the  early  years 
of  the  present  century,  the  republic  grew  in  wealth  and 
population,  sending  its  ships  into  every  sea,  and  its  pio- 
neers into  the  wilds  of  the  Oregon  and  to  the  lakes  of  the 
North.  It  burst  through  the  clouds  of  the  War  of  1812, 
and  saw  the  navy  of  the  young  nation  triumph  in  en- 
counters as  romantic  as  those  of  armed  knights  in  tour- 
nament. It  heard  the  arguments  of  Madison,  Hamil- 
ton, Marshal,  Story,  and  Webster,  determining  the  scope 
of  the  Constitution,  and  establishing  forever  the  theory  of 
its  powers  and  restrictions.  It  beheld  the  overthrow  of 
the  delusion  which  regarded  the  United  States  as  a  league 
and  not  a  nation,  and  that  would  have  sapped  it  with  the 
poison  of  nullification  and  secession.  It  saw  an  era  of 
literature  begin,  distinguished  by  the  stately  achievements 
of  the  historian,  the  thought  of  the  philosopher,  the  grace 
of  oratory,  the  sweet  pure  verse  of  the  American  poets,  — 
poets  of  nature  and  the  heart.  It  brought  the  tender 
ministry  of  unconsciousness  to  human  pain.  It  caught 
the  song  of  machinery,  the  thunder  of  the  locomotive, 
the  first  click  of  the  telegraph.  It  saw  the  measureless 
West  unfold  its  prairies  into  great  activities  of  life  and 
product  and  wealth.  It  saw  the  virtue  and  culture  and 
thrift  of  New  England  flow  broad  across  the  Mississippi, 
over  the  Rocky  Mountains,  and  down  the  Pacific  slope, 
expanding  into  a  civilization  so  magnificent  that  its  power 
and  grandeur  and  influence  to-day  overshadow  indeed  the 


FOURTH  OF  JULY.  223 

fount  from  which  they  sprang.  It  saw  America,  first 
wrenching  liberty  for  itself  from  the  hand  of  European 
tyranny,  share  it  free  as  the  air  with  the  oppressed  and 
cramped  peoples  of  Europe,  carrying  food  to  them  in 
their  starvation,  offering  them  an  asylum,  welcoming  their 
cooperation  in  the  development  and  enjoyment  of  the 
generous  culture  and  freedom  and  opportunity  of  the  New 
World,  and  setting  them,  from  the  first  even  till  now,  an 
example  of  free  institutions  and  local  popular  government, 
which  every  intelligent  and  self-respecting  people  must 
follow.  Its  afternoon  was  indeed  overcast  with  shameful 
assault  made  on  an  unoffending  neighbor  to  strengthen 
the  hold  of  slavery  upon  the  misguided  interests  of  the 
country ;  and  there  came  the  fiery  tempest  of  civil  war  : 
the  heart  of  the  nation  mourned  the  slaughter  of  its 
patriots,  and  the  treason  and  folly  of  its  children  of  the 
South,  yet  welcomed  them  back  to  their  place  in  the 
family  circle.  And  now  eventide  has  come ;  the  storm  is 
over ;  the  long  day  has  drawn  to  its  close  in  the  magnifi- 
cent irradiation  that  betokens  a  glorious  morning.  We 
gather  at  our  thresholds  and  hold  sweet  neighborly  con- 
verse. Our  children  are  about  us  in  pleasant  homes ;  our 
flocks  are  safe  ;  our  fields  are  ripening  with  the  harvest. 
We  recall  the  day,  and  pray  that  the  God  of  the  pilgrim 
and  the  patriot  will  make  the  morrow  of  our  republic 
even  brighter  and  better.  May  it  indeed  be  the  land 
of  the  free,  —  the  land  of  education  and  virtue,  in  which 
there  shall  be  none  ignorant  or  depraved,  none  outside 
the  pale  of  the  influence  and  sympathy  of  the  best,  and 
therefore  no  swift  or  slow  declension  to  corruption  and 
death,  no  decline  or  fall  for  the  future  historian  to  write. 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

RENEWALS  ONLY— TEL.  NO.  642-3405 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 

Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


tWTER-URRARY 


LOAN 


\'M  2  0  1970 


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fiEC'DLD    MAR;^o/t.4pw5  2    | 


JUL  11 


AUIODiSaJU.OF'SJ: 


LD21A-e0m-6,'69 
(J9096sl0)476-A-32 


General  Libraiy 

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Berkeley 


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